


Clear and Present Danger

by Ice_Cube44



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Crime Fighting, Drama, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Organized Crime, Shooting, Two-Handed Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Whump, did I mention the happy ending?, homicide investigation, past Millian, school hostage situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 102,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Cube44/pseuds/Ice_Cube44
Summary: Homicide detective Killian Jones has been searching for a way to bring Milah's murderer to justice. He knows who it is, who doesn't?  There's only one small problem: Robert Gold is the captain of the same homicide division. Enter Emma Swan, Internal Affairs investigator, looking into Gold's shady dealings. Between the two of them, can they unravel the web of deals and lies that have gotten Gold to where he is?





	1. Aggravated Assault and Battery

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, it's finally here! I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be publishing this, especially when I came so close to not being able to finish! But here is my entry into the [2018 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge](captainswanbigbang.tumblr.com). Get ready for 100k of twists and turns and - of course - whump. And maybe a little bit of romance along the way!

 

Check out this **AMAZING COVER** that [cocohook38](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com) made for my fic! Go show her some love on her post [here](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com/post/178612369371/clear-and-present-danger-by-icecubelotr44-for-the)!

* * *

* * *

He bloody well should have known better.

Also, Swan was going to kill him - if she managed to figure out where the bastard was hiding him in time.

But mostly that first one.

Killian should have waited for her.  They were supposed to be working together.  He didn’t like her sticking her neck out while he hid on the sidelines biding his time, but she was the Internal Affairs Investigator, not him.  And, she’d assured him while he scoffed his dislike at sitting on his hands, they’d get better results - better evidence - if he could fly under the radar.  With all of the bad history between him and her suspect, Emma had wanted him to remain as anonymous as possible.

_Not quite so anonymous, after all.  You’re a bloody idiot, Jones._

He didn’t even know when it had all gone so wrong.  He’d thought they were careful to keep him out of it, leaving him as Swan’s eyes and ears in the department.  Then, he’d gotten a lead on a deal with the man behind the curtain, the bastard orchestrating this whole thing.  It was a lead that, looking back, he should have realized was being handed to him on a golden platter.

He should have waited for Swan.

But while patience was a virtue that Killian took pride in, it had been nearly two years of false trails and dead ends and he hadn’t wanted to waste any more of Swan’s time until he knew for sure.  Not to mention, he didn’t want to risk _her_ if he didn’t have to.

So of course it had been a bloody trap.  He could see _now_ that it was designed to lure Emma and whomever she was working with (assuming that they _didn’t_ know it was him already) into making just this mistake.

And he’d leapt in with both feet like a goddamned rookie.

Liam would have his head.

Killian roughly shoved away any thoughts of his brother when he heard the creak of the warehouse door being lifted again.  He prayed to anyone, any _thing_ who would listen that it was Swan or Locksley or even some teenagers breaking into the old building to do who-knew-what.

It wasn’t.

* * *

**Four Months Earlier…**

“Jones!” Gold bellowed from his office, the summons echoing across the bullpen.

Killian Jones rolled his eyes at his partner before closing out of the file on his computer and shoving away from his desk.  “The Dark One calls,” he muttered, earning a smirk from Locksley and from Nolan at the next desk.

Nolan’s rookie, Henry Mills, barely looked up.  Mills was a good kid - eager to please and absorbing everything the three of them tried to teach him like a sponge.  But once he got his head wrapped around something - whether it was research for a case or plotlines for the books he tried to get published in his free time - they tended to lose him to the information written down in front of his nose.

Killian almost envied him the naiveté that came with being a rookie.  It felt like it had been centuries since he’d been that young and green.  When he’d gone home at night to Liam’s flat, nearly bursting with stories about all the good he’d done that day.  Liam had smiled at him every time and let him have his moment, the same way Killian and David now did for Henry.  Too many cases and too many unhappy endings had knocked that right out of Killian, and he dreaded the day that the same would happen to the kid.

“Jones!” Gold bellowed again, and Killian huffed out a breath in exasperation.

“Coming, you old crocodile,” he murmured under his breath - this time earning a reaction from Mills.

The rookie’s eyes went wide and his head whipped around to Gold’s office as if he were afraid that their captain could hear him across the bustling bullpen.  When Henry didn’t find the man storming across the room after Jones, however, he bit his lip and started scribbling something madly in one of his notebooks.  Killian had a feeling that, somehow, his insult would make into Mills’s next book.

Sighing in resignation, Killian finally made his way through the bullpen with all the enthusiasm of a pirate walking to the gallows.  He could feel eyes on him, other cops - some who knew of his less than stellar relationship with their captain and others who were just glad it wasn’t them - watching his death march.

“You bellowed, Your Majesty?” Killian snarked, leaning against the door jamb with his thumbs in his belt loops.

Gold sneered.  “Come in and close the door.”

Killian didn’t move, crossing one ankle over the other in a show of nonchalance.  

“Jones,” Gold ordered with a hint of anger coloring his tone.

Killian smirked.   _Perfect_.  

“I’m comfortable here.  What can I do for you?”  He paused, waiting for Gold’s face to turn red before adding a disdainful, “Sir.”

Even from across the office, Killian could see the muscles of Gold’s jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth.  He sighed inwardly.  Liam had told him time and again to tread carefully - first with the foster parents who had grudgingly taken them in and then with their commanding officer.

Killian never learned.

With Gold, it was almost too easy.  To say they hated each other was a gross understatement.  Gold _knew_ that his wife Milah would rather find love and freedom with Killian than to be shackled to him; had done so for years under his nose.  And Killian _knew_ that Gold was responsible for her death, though he still couldn’t prove it.

But not for a bloody lack of trying.

And then, as if he wanted to watch Killian suffer day after day with the knowledge that  the one who murdered the woman he loved was on the loose and no leads, Gold had him transferred into his unit.  On paper, the transfer was a gold star - a promotion from Patrol to Homicide on the personal request of the unit’s supervisor - and came with a jump in rank.  Then “Officer” - now “Lieutenant” - Killian Jones knew better.  Gold just wanted to torture him with the ability and means to hunt futilely for Milah’s murderer when there was nothing to find.

_Speaking of…_

“Have you found anything on Milah’s murderer, _Lieutenant_?” Gold asked as if he was actually concerned with the results.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did to be asked.  Not by _him_.  Killian had enough trouble getting through his days without being accosted by Milah’s absence from his life without being tormented by his failure to turn up any solid evidence.

That, he supposed, was what the _Jolly Roger_ was for.

Inwardly, he seethed.  Gold should be running scared.  He should be worried about what Killian was going to find and when he was going to find it.  Because he _wasn’t_ going to stop looking.  Not until the day someone put a bullet in Killian’s chest and ended what passed for his miserable existence.  And even then.

Instead, Gold just sat at his desk like the smug little imp he was, ruling over their department like some kind of despotic king.  He didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“Nothing yet,” Killian answered, jaw clenched and muscles twitching in his cheek before he once again added a curt yet insolent, “Sir.”

“Pity,” Gold’s oily voice slithered over the word.  “You came so highly recommended.  I guess you’re just another disappointment.  Milah really should have picked a better champion, shouldn’t she?”

The room turned a startling shade of red.  Killian couldn’t see anything other than the bloody color filling his vision, his imagination helpfully vaulting himself over the desk and throttling Gold for his callousness.

David’s hand on his shoulder was, perhaps, the only thing that kept him from a suspension and another black mark on his record.

“Was planning on taking the rookie out to an old scene, Cap.”  David didn’t let go of Killian as he spoke to Gold.  “Thought I’d see what he could find on the Hatter case.  If that’s all right?”

“Yes, yes, dearie,” Gold muttered, waving him off.  “Take Jones with you; looks like he’s been in the office too long.”

Killian spun on his heel without being formally dismissed, moving through the bullpen and right past Locksley without a word.  His hands were shaking as he shoved them in his pockets, an icy chill working its way down his spine as he kept moving.  He needed to get out of there, needed just a minute to…

He didn’t even know _what_ he needed.  Milah had always known, but she was gone and unavenged and there was apparently nothing that he could manage to do about that.

God, he just wanted her back.

Killian found himself on the roof, hands wrapped around the wrought iron railing and still trembling.  It was loud out here - the wind howling through the buildings and the ever-present din of traffic far below - but Killian loved it even more for the noise.

It silenced the self-recriminations, if only for a moment.

Given the chance, he’d have flown across the city - using lights and sirens if traffic was moving too slow - and sailed away from it all.  The soothing cadence of ocean waves against his boat’s hull was far more relaxing than the sounds of the city, but he’d have to take what he could get while he was still on duty.

Maybe he and Liam could take her out this Saturday, if he could entice his brother to come back from the cabin for the weekend - or maybe a little bit longer.  Liam had been spending more and more time out there, the seclusion and the work that the place required enough to distract him from the bustle of the city.  From what he’d lost, himself.  

The State had given Liam a generous settlement package - full disability and his complete pension package along with a medal accompanied by their very sincere thanks for nearly giving his life in service to the community - but it couldn’t account for everything.  Liam had lost the means to protect Killian, not to mention the people of the city - people that Liam had built his career around keeping safe.  It weighed on him far more than any financial stability could ever overcome.

But that was neither here nor there and Killian couldn’t focus on Liam right now.  Not when he needed to get his head back in the game and stop replaying the needling jabs Gold was always throwing his way.

“All right, Jones?” Locksley’s voice drifted across the roof, light on the wind but not casual enough to mask his concern.

Killian nodded, the lie tasting too much like ash to make it past his lips.  “I’ll be down in a minute, aye?”  He threw over his shoulder, still staring at the traffic far below them.

He didn’t hear the sound of the access door closing, so he knew his partner was still standing there, silent and supportive.  Killian dropped his head, letting the tension radiate through his shoulders before he finally pushed away from the railing.

“We’ll get him, mate.  You know that right?” Locksley asked, clapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder and shaking him a little.

It didn’t help.

“Aye, of course,” he replied anyway, but he wasn’t certain he believed it.  Not any more.  Not when he had to watch Gold thrive in the spotlight every day, smug and full of such hubris that even Killian was starting to believe that he’d gotten away with it.

Milah would be furious.

Killian shook off Robin’s hand and made his way back downstairs, bypassing the bullpen entirely and heading for one of the unmarked cars.  Nolan waved to him from the driver’s seat of his own car before they pulled out.

Maybe a couple hours combing over a cold case with the rookie wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.  It was almost nice to see the world through Mills’ eyes for a little while, where the cases were still black and white and a missing girl was still just that (if the rookie was ignoring the fact that a missing child case was being handled by Homicide, Killian wasn’t going to burst his bubble just yet).

They’d been over the abandoned warehouse with a fine-toothed comb more than once.  The only real evidence they had that the girl had even been here was a ratty stuffed animal that might have been a rabbit once upon a time.  Jefferson Hatter, her father, swore that he’d given the toy to his daughter for her birthday and routinely called the precinct asking when it could be returned to him from the evidence locker.

His daughter would need it, he reminded them each time, when she came home.

Killian didn’t know what it was about the case that got to him; he’d handled plenty of cases with kids and they didn’t gnaw at him like this one did.  By rights, they should have kicked the file to the cold case division months ago.  There was no real evidence that the girl had been killed, she was just gone.

Vanished into thin air, like magic.

And yet, here they were.

Killian could hear David explaining something to Henry down the hall but the words were muffled.  It didn’t matter; not really.  He knew the case backwards and forwards and while there was a hint of optimism that his cynicism hadn’t quite extinguished yet, it was dwindling.  They weren’t going to find anything.  They weren’t going to find _her_.  Not the way that any of them wanted to find Grace Hatter.

Trying to silence the morose path his thoughts were taking, Killian scrubbed some of the grime off a window pane and looked out.  The alley below was full of trash and abandoned boxes - he had a feeling that there was a tent city of sorts there in nicer weather.  He expected to see the bum at one end of the alley, picking through a dumpster with a stolen shopping cart nearly full of cans behind him.

He didn’t expect to see two men, dressed in suits and overcoats, hunched against the wind and gesticulating wildly at one another just under his window.  It was curious enough on its own, but when the taller man looked up, Killian took off at a run.  He practically leapt down the stairs, stumbling on the landing and blowing past Mills and Nolan at a full sprint, shouting for backup.  He pulled his weapon, flicking off the safety as he held it securely in his right hand.  The barrel of the gun led his pursuit, wavering only slightly with each step he took.

He heard the pounding of feet behind him, heard Mills calling into a radio, but couldn’t concentrate on that.  He knew that Locksley was somewhere in the building, likely on his way to their location, but he needed to focus on getting out the door and into the alley before-

The alley was empty.

“Bloody hell!” Killian shouted in frustration, legs still pumping as he bypassed the area where the two men had been meeting and burst out onto the street, nearly tripping over the homeless man’s treasure on his way past.

 _There_.

The tail of an overcoat billowed in the wind as one of the men rounded a corner and out of sight again.  Killian pushed himself further - pushed himself harder, faster, beyond his limits - following his mark between buildings and down another alley.  He rounded a third corner, the sounds of the city muffling the footsteps of his partners, thinking only of-

He was lying on the ground.  How did he get on the ground?

“Killian!” Locksley’s voice startled him.    “Jones, wake up!  Are you- Mills, where’s the ambulance?”

 _Wake up?_  Was he sleeping?

The world spun sickeningly around him, like a carousel careening wildly out of control, and Killian couldn’t do anything more than squeeze his eyes further shut and try to scrabble for any type of handhold to keep from sliding off the ground into the abyss that was surely waiting for him.  His stomach rolled and he tried to bite back the nausea that was creeping in on him, to no avail.  He only had a moment’s warning before the acrid taste of bile and… it hurt too much to do more than heave, thinking was out of the question.

Hands on his head helped to keep him steady as he lost his lunch onto the pavement, shaking slightly with the effort when he was rolled to his back again.

“Jones?  You with us?”  One of his partners - he wasn’t quite sure who, what with all the ringing in his ears.

White hot pain lanced through his forehead when he tried to nod in the affirmative, making him think twice about opening his eyes.  It was safer in the dark, far less painful.

“Wha’ happen’?” he slurred, surprised at how wrong the letters sounded.

Locksley’s voice finally filtered through the ringing in his ears.  “We were hoping you could tell us.  Looks like whoever you were chasing took you out with a metal pipe.”

There was the clang of metal against asphalt and it sent shivers down Killian’s spine as the sound assaulted his ears and made them ring.  The wail of sirens nearly made him sick again, and if he were less stubborn, Killian may have allowed himself to pass out.  But there were too many people around him and no one chasing-

“Hades,” he bit out, a little startled by the sound of his own voice.  “It was Hades in the alley.  Did you-?”

Everyone around him was murmuring now, and he could hear the rustle of movement.

“No one saw who you were chasing, Jones.  Are you sure?”  That was David, the accompanying hand on his shoulder squeezing in gentle support.

“Aye,” Killian managed, well aware that he shouldn’t try nodding his head again.  “It was him.  Did no one-”

He was cut off by the arrival of the paramedics and there was no more time for questions.  Plenty of time for that later since Hades was clearly long gone.

There was a blood pressure cuff on his arm and a mask over his face and Killian wanted nothing more than to bat both of them away.  He didn’t recognize the voices of the medics, didn’t want to think too hard about who they were anyway, and tried not to lose what little composure he had as he was lifted from the ground onto a gurney that rolled too quickly for his liking.  Trembling in spite of himself as he was jostled and lifted yet again, Killian latched onto the hard plastic beneath him and held on for dear life.

“It’s all right, Jones, we’ve got you,” Locksley soothed from somewhere to Killian’s left, the doors to the ambulance closing and muffling the sounds of traffic.  He thought he might have made some sound of acknowledgement, but the world slipped away from him as the ambulance began to move.

* * *

Liam Jones glared down at the mess of shingles littering the ground around the cabin and cursed.  The late summer storm a few days before had wreaked havoc on the roof that he and Killian had been putting off replacing and Liam didn’t even want to _know_ what damage had been done inside.  He’d gotten out of the truck and just climbed up on the roof.

Still, glaring at the mess wasn’t going to fix it and with another storm predicted before the weekend, he couldn’t wait any longer for Killian to come out and help him.  His little brother would probably have a fit when he realized Liam had been climbing ladders and up on the roof, but Killian had to realize that he was getting better every day.

He hadn’t had an attack in months.

As if his nerves were determined to betray him, Liam’s hands shook minutely.  He glared at them, wrapping his fingers more tightly around the hammer and began to pull up the damaged shingles.  It took awhile, but Liam lost himself in the repetitive task, the echo of the hammer through the woods the only thing to distract him from the pure, blessed silence.

It had been just over a year since the day he’d nearly lost everything, only just managing to step in front of an adrenaline-and-hate fueled teenager intent on stabbing Killian in the back.  The fire that had raced along Liam’s side and settled deep inside him had frightened him, but not nearly so much as the sound of his brother’s confused and increasingly panicked screams.

Killian had sounded so damned frightened and the blood he’d been rapidly losing had stolen Liam’s ability to comfort his little brother as consciousness fled quickly.

There had been poison coating the teenager’s blade.  Dreamshade, the doctor had called it.  A bloody neurotoxin that reacted poorly with adrenaline and caused violent muscle tremors.  A goddamned nuisance if the job required you to shoot a weapon accurately under pressure.

He wouldn’t change a thing.  Killian was safe - as safe as one could be as a detective with Boston Police anyway - and able to do his job.  It was all that mattered, as long as he was-

The phone ringing through the trees startled Liam and made his hands start to shake.  Grumbling at himself, Liam breathed out slowly through his nose and allowed the muscles to calm before answering the phone.  His former partner’s face was on the screen, a dumb picture from Killian’s last birthday that David grumbled about every chance he got.

“Jones,” Liam answered by rote, already reaching for the next shingle, plotting out how best to finish this project.

David’s voice came over the line, the muffled voices around him letting Liam know that he was on shift.  He thought he heard Killian’s voice, but something seemed a little off.  “Liam?  It’s Nolan.  Where are you right now?”

Liam blinked.  David knew he was at the cabin.

Something was wrong.

Sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Liam started climbing down the ladder, sure that if he didn’t now, he wouldn’t be able to by the time he hung up the phone.  

“You know where I am.  What-” Sirens.  _Ambulance_ sirens. “-David?”

Nolan sighed over the phone.  “How long will it take you to get back here?”

“What happened?”  He didn’t tell David that it would take him a lot less time than it should.  Nolan already knew that.

“We don’t know exactly.  We were down at the old Hatter scene, showing the kid around.  Killian took off like a bat out of Hell and when we caught up to him… yes, Mills stay on the phone until they’re here… sorry, Liam.  It looks like someone tried to take him out with a pipe.”

Liam grabbed his keys off the porch rail, already sprinting up the hill towards where he’d left the truck.  “Is he all right?”

David didn’t answer him right away and by the suddenly muffled sounds it sounded like his hand was over the phone.

“Nolan!  Is my brother all right?”

More mumbled conversation that Liam couldn’t make out.  He scratched the key through the paint around the door lock before he managed to get it inserted correctly, doing his best to tear the door from its hinges when he wrenched it open.

“Liam?  Still there?”

There were a choice number of disbelieving curses on the tip of Liam’s tongue.  As if he’d hang up the bloody phone when he still didn’t _know_ anything.  “I swear to God, Nolan…”

“He’s not really with it, but he’s been in and out since we found him.  The ambulance is almost here, but… hold on, he’s coming around.”

“David!  Don’t you dare hang up!” Liam shouted into dead air, the tires of the truck digging into the mud before catching and sending him hurtling forward along the dirt road towards Killian.

Towards home.

“No one saw who you were chasing, Jones.  Are you sure?” David’s voice, further away this time, but blessedly still on the line.  And talking to his-

“Aye, it was him.” God, that was his brother.  Killian, conscious and sounding like he’d been on a bender, but awake.  “Did no one-”

There was a squeal of brakes and the deafening scream of sirens interrupting his brother.  Liam stomped on the gas as soon as he was on pavement again, his own tires squealing as he pushed the old truck to its limit.

He had to get back to the city.  He had to be there _now_.  God, why had he thought it was such a bloody good idea to go out to the cabin today?  He should have just waited for Killian, gone with him this weekend.  Would the damage from a second storm really have been worse than the hours it was going to take him to get back to the city now?

He didn’t even know what goddamned hospital they were taking him to yet.  Didn’t know what he’d find when he got there.  Didn’t know what had _happened_.

“David!” he shouted into the phone again, his fingers nearly shaking too violently to stab the speakerphone button and smash the device into the car mount when Nolan still didn’t answer.  There was a control to the chaos on the other end of the line, one that he knew all too well, but it didn’t make him any more calm, didn’t do anything to quell the rise in adrenaline as he laid on the horn to get the too-slow grandmother out of his path to the highway.

His fingers shook harder, his arms trembling with the strain of holding the wheel in a near-vice grip to try and keep the truck steady.  He could feel the tremors all over his body, sure he looked like a strung-out addict jonesing for his next fix.

He didn’t care a bloody whit.  

“Liam?”  David’s voice finally came back over the line.  “The paramedics have him and Locksley is riding along.”

“Locksley?  Why aren’t _you_ in there?”

David sighed.  “Robin is his partner, Jones.  Just like I’m yours.  It’s his right to be in there and you know it.  Where are you?”

“On my way.”

“Whatever speed you’re doing right now, slow down by at least twenty.”

Liam didn’t answer.

“I mean it, Jones.  However fast you’re going, that truck can’t handle it and I refuse to get to the hospital and tell Killian that his brother isn’t coming because he’s in a car wreck on the side of the road.”

“Sod off.”

“Liam!”

Liam sighed, but he eased off the accelerator a fraction, glaring at the speedometer as it crept down a few miles an hour.  He was still going far faster than Nolan intended, but at least the only shaking now was coming from his afflicted muscles and not the engine.

“Where are they taking him?”  Liam swerved onto the on-ramp, ignoring the blaring horns and sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t actually caused an accident.

There was mumbling from the phone and Liam nearly shouted again before David came back.  “MGH.  They’re taking him to MGH.”

Massachusetts General Hospital.  They were taking him to a level one trauma cen-

“It’s just because it’s closest, Liam.  Stop freaking out.”

Liam’s breath heaved out of him in a whoosh, but that did nothing to calm the tremors.  “I hear you,” he responded anyway, eyes narrowing at the brake lights ahead of him.  God, he missed having lights and sirens.

“I mean it, Liam.  Be careful, all right?  I don’t want to be responsible for investigating your fatal accident.”  He paused and Liam didn’t have time to hope that the lecture was done before- “I don’t want to have to keep Killian away from that scene.”

Finally, Liam slowed down.  It was a low blow and it took everything he had to stay in the present and not delve back into _those_ memories.  God, Killian couldn’t manage another car accident scene.

“It’ll take me some time to get back to the city.  You’ll call…” he paused, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down.  “You’ll call if you hear anything?”

“You know I will,” David assured him before hanging up.

The silence in the truck was deafening.  He didn’t really mean for the speed to creep up, but the longer he drove, the more scenarios popped into his head.  Killian was injured badly enough that they’d called an ambulance.  Killian was injured badly enough that David hadn’t called _him_ first.   _Killian_ was _injured_ badly enough that he hadn’t been able to deny the need for an ambulance.

He was still conjuring up nightmare scenarios when he finally noticed the flashing lights behind him.  Liam rolled his eyes but kept going.  If it happened to be an officer that he _didn’t_ know, he’d deal with it once he got to the hospital.  Surely, there would be enough cops there who could vouch for him.

The sirens came next and Liam resisted the urge to step on the gas even harder.  He was coming into the city proper and it wouldn’t do to actually lose control of the truck trying not to crash into the inevitable traffic.

Then his phone started to ring - the idiot must have run his plates.

“Tell whoever it is that I’ll stop when I get to-”

“It’s _me_ , you stubborn sonuvabitch!” David started shouting over him.  “Pull over!”

 _Oh_.

Liam smacked the signaler, ignoring David’s strained laughter at the unlikelihood of Liam Jones having _manners_ while driving at breakneck speed down a Boston street of all places, and pulled off to the shoulder.  He was already out of the truck before David pulled in behind him and he sprinted towards the car.

The rookie was sitting in the passenger’s seat.

He didn’t have time to worry about it, but as the cruiser pulled back onto the highway and Liam had nothing to distract him any longer, it rankled.  That was supposed to be _his_ seat.  If he had been there instead of Mills, maybe Killian wouldn’t be…

Well, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed somewhere without his brother at his side, that was for damn sure.

But that was neither here nor there.  He couldn’t take his place at David’s side again any more than he could have prevented Killian from getting hurt - though he bloody well would have tried.  The tremors had torn away his ability to look out for Killian every day on the job and had stolen his career from him, but he’d do it again and again.

Every damn time.

Even if  he was now relegated to a two-bit private investigator just praying every day that he’d hear from his brother after his shift.

He was so caught up in self-recriminations that he didn’t realize how close they were to MGH until the flashing lights of ambulances made him wince.  He pulled on the handle out of habit, nearly snarling when he couldn’t open the door.

“Mills is coming, Jones, relax,” David tried to placate him, but the lad was clearly trudging through molasses for how fast he was moving.

Liam nearly stumbled when his legs didn’t want to hold him up from the tremors, but he brushed off Henry’s concerned hand and forced himself to walk (jog, sprint) through the open door.

“Where is he?”

In a bloody _hallway,_ as it turned out.  His brother had been remanded to wait in a hallway with no one but his partner monitoring him.  Liam was going to have someone’s head.

Locksley clearly thought it was going to be his if the way he rushed to diffuse Liam’s poorly disguised wrath was any indication.  “It’s been an absolute zoo in here.  Some idiot on 93 decided to get on the off-ramp and caused a huge pile-up.  They’ve been checking on him, but there’s just no better place for him right now.”

Liam wanted to stalk off and rail at the nurses.  He wanted to make a scene until someone was paying proper attention to his brother.  As if Killian sensed his rising adrenaline, he chose that moment to whimper and tense.

Liam was sitting by his hip, hand on Killian’s forearm, almost before he’d registered the change.  “Killian?  Can you hear me, little brother?”

Killian bobbed his head wildly and it was clear he immediately regretted it, if the alarming change in the color of his skin was any indication.

Liam rolled his eyes - his little brother could never try anything in moderation first - but squeezed Killian’s arm in sympathy.  “Slowly, Killian.  Do you know where you are?”

He didn’t.

“Get his doctor,” Liam hissed behind him, not knowing - nor caring - who obeyed the order.

Someone did - he’d bet on Mills from the sound of footsteps scurrying down the hall.

“Killian,” he waited until his brother’s head angled towards his voice, his eyes still stubbornly shut.  “What’s my name?”

One eye - the one not swollen shut and half-covered in hastily applied bandages - slitted open and searched for him.  “D’nno.  D’n know you,” he slurred before relaxing back into unconsciousness.

Liam was sure his heart stopped.

“Where’s his _bloody doctor_?!”

* * *

Be-beep. Be-beep. Be-beep.

Killian turned his head automatically towards the insistent beeping, groaning when his hand got trapped under the blankets and he couldn’t mash the snooze button on the alarm.

_Why isn’t the radio playing?_

“You can keep trying, little brother, but you’re not going to turn off that machine.”

_Machine?_

And then, _Liam?_

He tried reaching for the sound again, only to be stopped by his brother’s fingers wrapping around his own, the sharp tug of something stinging the back of his hand.  “Oww,” Killian mumbled, trying to pull away from his brother’s grasp if Liam was going to make his hand hurt like that.

“Leave it, Killian,” Liam ordered, and Killian could feel the petulant pout crawling across his face as he huffed in annoyance.  “You can’t reach the monitor anyway.”

He hurt.  His head was pounding, the right side of his face strangely warm and tight.  He hadn’t yet risked opening his eyes, but if Liam was there, then he didn’t need to.  He was safe.

“Stay awake, little brother,” Liam continued, his tone still carried the familiar weight of an order.  It _should_ annoy him.  

“Y’mean _younger_ , Li’m,” he slurred, surprised at how drunk he sounded.  He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since Milah.

Liam sighed next to him, and it sounded almost like relief - which didn’t make much sense.  Intrigued, Killian slitted his eyes open just enough to make out Liam in the dim light.

And the familiar makings of a hospital room around him.

_Oh._

Memories started to flutter through the headache: the chase through the alley and then the disjointed images of the emergency room, Liam’s concerned voice echoing around him.

Hades.

Goddamnit, the man was on their Most Wanted wall for a reason.  He was slippery as an eel and wanted for a dozen crimes.  If Killian could have chased him down, if he could have apprehended _Hades_ of all people, he wouldn’t have to work under Gold any longer.

Hell, if the hints of rumors he’d heard third-hand were true, catching Hades might bring down Gold entirely.

“You with me, Killian?” Liam’s concern had ratcheted up a notch while Killian’s mind drifted.  The worried tone of voice was enough to convince Killian to open his eyes - well, _eye_ \- so he could meet his brother’s gaze.

“Sort of,” he mumbled in answer, but it was enough for Liam to sit back down at his bedside instead of hovering.  “M’ face hurts.”

Liam laughed, a strained little thing, but he tried to smile anyway.  “Aye, I imagine it does.  It doesn’t look too pretty right now.”

“‘M always handsome,” he snarked back, then groaned when the half-smile that had threatened to turn into a smirk made his head pound.  “Oww.”

 _That_ made Liam laugh for real, which was mostly what Killian intended.

“If you wanted me to come back from the cabin for a few days, little brother, you could’ve just asked.”

“ _Younger_ , Liam.  Younger brother,” Killian replied crankily, the nickname rankling him though he wasn’t entirely sure why.  He couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t a source of minor annoyance between them, but it hadn’t made him mad in a long time.  Not like this.  The beeping from the machine increased and Killian could feel his face getting red, his chest getting tight, his-

“Aye, Killian.  Younger.  You’re my brother, that’s all that matters.”

_Well, then._

Just like that, the anger faded, replaced by an exhaustion that nearly had his eyes closing in sleep.  He’d felt like this before - the irrational mood swings, the headache and nausea, it all told him what the doctor inevitably would when he made his rounds: Killian had another concussion.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shifting on the uncomfortable mattress and sliding his hand around until he found Liam’s again.  He squeezed lightly, smiling when Liam returned the gesture.

“It’s all right, Killian, just sleep,” Liam accepted the apology easily - their roles had been reversed more than once.

Killian’s brow furrowed - he hadn’t even noticed when he’d closed his eyes - and he muttered in annoyance, “Was trying to.  You said-”

“ _Sleep_ , little brother.”

He never heard the doctor come in to check on him.

 


	2. RICO

Killian was going to make sure his brother died a horribly tragic death.  Liam wouldn’t stop trying to shove pills down his throat and scowling disapprovingly every time his _younger_ brother tried to so much as stand on tiptoes to put away a cereal box.  He loved Liam; he _did_.  And there was no one he’d have rather had sitting by his bedside when he woke up in the hospital.  But it had been a very long two weeks and the doctor had finally cleared him for light activity and Liam was still mother henning.

_And_ they’d missed a perfectly good sailing trip the weekend before because Liam had deemed him too much of an invalid to risk the surf.  It was already September; they didn’t have many weekends left to sail.  If any.

Killian sighed.  He hadn’t been much better when Liam had finally been released from the hospital after… Killian bit those memories off before they could drag him down again.  Liam was _fine_ ; he may not be able to pass fitness tests and firearms proficiency exams any longer, but he was whole and mostly happy working as a private investigator and being a general nuisance to Killian’s plans to accelerate his recovery.  

He had to get back to work.  Soon.

Sighing for what seemed the thousandth time, Killian flipped back to the front of the file he’d amassed on Gold, looking again for anything he might have missed in the dozens, hundreds, thousands of times he’d read through it already.

“Killian, I made some lunch.  Did you want any… are you okay?”  Liam came in the room and sat down beside him on the couch, ducking down until he could look in Killian’s eyes.  “Do you need more-”

“No!  Liam, I am fine!” he shouted, dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling until the dull headache behind his eyes blossomed back into a full-blown migraine.  

Liam started to get up.  “I’ll just leave you to it then, aye?”

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized quickly, his hand darting out to Liam’s knee, keeping him in place on the couch.  “I didn’t mean to snap.”

It was Liam’s turn to sigh.  “I know you’re frustrated, little brother.  I get it.  Truly.  But-”

“I _know_ that, Liam.  I know you get it.  I’m sorry.”  Killian looked up apologetically, seeing a now familiar melancholy just below the surface in Liam’s eyes.  He knew his brother would never admit to it, but being sidelined had affected Liam far more than he insisted.

“What are you looking at?” Liam peered over his shoulder, trying to see the evidence report.

Killian handed it to him in resignation.  “What else?”

“Oh, Killian,” Liam murmured, flipping through the file with a practiced eye.  “I thought you had moved on from-”

“Moved _on_?  What, I should just _forget_ her?  Forget that the bloody bastard killed my…” he broke off in half a sob, curling in on himself in spite of the company.  

He was safe, he was whole… despite what the gaping hole Milah’s death had left behind in his heart made him think. He still had his brother.  He and Liam were still together.  He didn’t need anything else.  The mantra was an old habit; not exactly calming but enough to give Killian some perspective when he felt off balance.

Liam dropped the file and laid a hand on Killian’s back, his thumb soothing between the shoulder blades.  “Of course not, little brother.  That’s not what I meant.  She’s always going to be a part of you, but she wouldn’t want _this_ for you.”  He waved his hand over the folder, then up at Killian as if that explained everything.

It pretty much did.

Killian shrugged helplessly.  “I have to see him _every day_.  See him sitting there, pleased as punch in his bloody office, lording it over all of us.  Lording it over _me_.  He killed her, Liam.  He killed her and the only thing I can do about it is read this bloody file and hope that somehow, someday, he screws up.”

“You could leave the department,” Liam offered hesitantly.  “You don’t have to torture yourself every day.  Come work with me.  The hours are better, the pay is better when we have cases… it’s less dangerous.”

It was an old offer, one Killian had turned down countless times before.  And did again.

“I’m just saying, Killian, you don’t have to-”

“I know,” he interrupted.  “But if I leave, he wins.  And I can’t… I _won’t_ let him win.  Milah deserves more than that.   _Better_ than that.”

Liam nodded.  Killian knew his brother hadn’t expected anything different.  But what he said next _did_ surprise him.  “Do you have another copy of this?  Maybe I can find something that you’ve overlooked.  Use some of my contacts outside the department’s resources to find what you can’t get access to.”

“You’d do that?” he asked incredulously.  Liam hadn’t liked Milah much, Killian knew, but he wouldn’t hold that against her now.  But he’d never offered before.  He’d never taken more than a passing glance at the file, as if looking into his former commanding officer was off limits, somehow.  Killian had never thought that he’d-

“Of course,” Liam assured him, tucking the file under his arm.  

And that was that.  Killian supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.  Liam was his brother, and that was all that mattered.

“Now come on, little brother,” Liam ordered as he stood up, still clutching the file.  “I made lunch and then we’re going to the cabin for a few days before your medical leave is up.”

“Aye, Captain,” Killian snarked, pushing himself to his feet and silently cheering when Liam didn’t step in to make sure he didn’t get dizzy or fall.

Maybe he _wouldn’t_ make sure that Liam died a horribly tragic death for all the mother henning he’d done, after all.

* * *

Everything was super glued to his bloody desk.

Killian glared at Mills, at Locksley, and at Nolan’s quickly retreating back, but none of them looked apologetic in the least.  He flicked angrily at a pen, sharp pain stinging his fingernail when it - like everything else - didn’t so much as twitch.

“Welcome back, Jones!” Locksley crowed.  “Glad to see you’re on the mend.”

The doctor had prescribed another week of desk work before he could be cleared to return to the field, but it was better than staying at home - and it might take him that long to fix the mess his partners had left for him, anyway.  He grumbled some sort of response, pulling at the pen in earnest now.

This was going to take forever.

Still, it was better than staying at home under Liam’s all too watchful eye.

“Jones!” Gold called across the room and his frustration rose another ten notches.  He couldn’t catch a break.  He just need-  “Now, Lieutenant!”

“You’d better go, sir,” Mills said quietly, his cheeks a little pink and looking anywhere other than Killian’s desk.

Killian rose from his chair - a little surprised to find that _he_ wasn’t super glued to the cushion - and glared without heat at the kid.  “I’ve told you a hundred times, lad, it’s Killian or Jones.  I don’t want to be called ‘Sir’; never have.”

Henry nodded reluctantly, but it was an old argument and one Killian wasn’t likely to win any time soon.

“We’ll work on it, Rookie,” he sighed. Killian clapped the kid on the back before moving across the bullpen leisurely and accepting everyone’s ‘welcome back’ and ‘glad you’re okay’ with only a slight tinge of pink staining his cheeks.  The longer it took him, the-

“I said _now_ , Jones!” Gold shouted and Killian bit back a smug grin.  One of these days, drawing the commanding officer’s ire was going to bite him in the ass, but today was not that day.

Gold was fuming by the time Killian made his way into the office, flopping into the chair across from the desk and smirking when the captain glared at the clear disrespect.  Killian refrained from propping his feet up on Gold’s desk - _this time_ \- wanting to be able to get to his feet quickly, just in case.  Poking the rattlesnake was all well and good - until the day it bit back.

“Did you enjoy your vacation, Lieutenant?” Gold asked, each word dripping in candied venom.

Killian blinked.

Then he blinked again, starting to wonder if Liam was right to suggest he take the rest of the week and return fresh on Monday instead of trying to tough out these last two days before the weekend.  “I… vacation?” he asked instead.

Gold smirked.  “Of course.  Your recent time off from the department.”

“You mean…” he trailed off uncertainly.  Surely, Gold didn’t mean his medical leave.  “I haven’t been on _vacation_.”

“What else would you call it then, Lieutenant?”  Gold was idly playing with a pen, looking down his nose at Killian.

Killian bristled.  “I was knocked _unconscious_ ,” he hissed, his temper starting to bubble to the surface.  He knew Gold was just baiting him.  It didn’t make it any easier.

Two, it seemed, could play at Killian’s game.  And he was losing.

Gold just shook his head sadly.  “Ah, yes, that.  You cost the department a fair bit of money with your theatrics, didn’t you?  You Jones boys are certainly cut from the same cloth.  All drama and little substa-”

“Don’t you _dare_ demean my brother’s sacrifice, Gold.  Don’t.  You.  _Dare_.”  Killian kept his seat, but only barely.  One of these days, he was going to knock the bastard down a peg or three, and he was going to grin while doing it.

But Gold just tutted at him as if he were scolding a small child.  “My, that’s quite a temper, Jones.  Wouldn’t want another reprimand to go into your file, would you?  It would be awfully difficult to procure a transfer if you keep amassing those insubordination charges.”

“Like you’re ever going to let me out from under your bloody thumb,” Killian muttered sullenly, the anger still boiling, just waiting to overflow.

The look that crossed Gold’s face could only be described as sinister.  He was satisfied and it turned Killian’s stomach.  Liam’s offer looked more and more inviting every day.  He could work with his brother again, not having to wither away under Gold’s belittling remarks.  He could take Locksley and David and even Mills with him, he thought.  It wouldn’t be… he couldn’t do that to Milah.

God.   _Damn_ it all to bloody hell.

Killian clenched his jaw, the muscles twitching violently in his cheek as he bit back a sarcastic retort at the pleased smile on Gold’s face.

“So tell me in detail about this farce of a story you’ve concocted to bilk some more sick time out of the department,” Gold sneered.  "You want me to honestly believe that your mishap came in the pursuit of the man who tops our Most Wanted board?  Truly, dearie?"

_If I walk out of this office, Liam will be disappointed.  If I walk out of this office_ right now, _Gold will write me up again.  If I leap across the room and strangle him, someone will stop me_ , Killian thought in vain attempt to keep himself seated and to keep himself from doing something his brother would regret later.  It would be so easy to walk away from it all, so easy to antagonize Gold to the point where he kicked him back to traffic detail.

But Locksley had benefited from the promotion as well, ill-begotten as it was, and he had a little boy and a wife at home to support.  Killian couldn't take this away from him, from _them_ , not for all the grief Gold put him through every day.  He was stronger than that.

"I saw an active person of interest from our Top Ten Most Wanted list and I acted in accordance with my training.  In pursuit of the suspect, with backup on the way, I was injured in the line of duty.  I did not, at any time, pose a threat to the public nor did I discharge my weapon.  The suspect eluded capture, and has not - to my knowledge - been spotted again since.  I was injured while trying to chase down this suspect, and the review board has already deemed my actions were warranted.  Is there anything else" - Killian took a breath and met Gold's eyes - "Sir?"

Gold sighed as if Killian were a wayward child he had to discipline.  "You've yet to show me anything worth the chance I took on you, Lieutenant.  I would hate to tarnish my department's record by having someone under me who can't pull his weight.  Perhaps I was wrong and you and your partner" - Killian growled audibly, to which Gold grinned - "would be better off back in your old positions."

It was like the little imp could read his mind.  Roland had just started kindergarten at one of the city's elite preparatory schools - a tuition Locksley couldn't afford on a patrolman's salary.  Regina was an up-and-coming assistant district attorney, but townhouses in Back Bay didn't come cheaply.  The Locksley family needed this.

No matter what would help Killian sleep better at night.

"If you see fit to transfer us, sir," Killian began contritely, covering a smirk, "then I'm sure that Spencer or Pendragon would be happy to accept us into their divisions."

It was Gold's turn to seethe, not able to stand the other captains in Narcotics and White Collar.  He'd sooner chew off his own arm than see one of his men snatched up by those two.

And Killian knew it.

"I'm sure that Nolan and Mills would follow us, of course.  We're kind of a package deal now," he added, twisting the knife a little.

Gold snarled before masking his emotions carefully.  "No need, of course, Lieutenant.  I'm sure that once you're fully cleared to go back in the field, you'll make up the difference."

"Of course."  Killian stood before he was dismissed, thrilled to see the flicker of annoyance mar Gold's face.

He waited at attention now, as if he weren't toying with Gold's patience just a moment ago.  He stood ramrod straight, eyes fixed on one of the plaques behind the desk.  Gold let him stand there long enough to make Killian want to shift, want to turn on his heel and leave entirely.  But he had been raised on Liam’s patience and steady presence.  He could play the long game, he _could_ , and he'd make Gold regret toying with him if it was the last thing he did.  So he waited, counting down the seconds while picturing what Gold would look like in handcuffs and prison orange.

“Dismissed, Jones,” Gold finally ordered, that hint of annoyance he was so carefully masking in his eyes ringing loud and clear through his words.

Killian smirked, turned smartly on his heel while narrowly avoiding the urge to snap a salute, and nearly marched out of the office.  

The second he was past the door, he dropped the act, sauntering back to his desk and throwing himself into his chair.  Frustrated, Killian backhanded the pencil cup to his left, biting back a sharp cry when the cup didn’t move - he’d forgotten his partners’ antics.

“Bloody he-”

A bottle of acetone plunked down in front of him, David’s sheepish look serving to abate the anger that was bubbling up.  The back of his hand stung, a line of fire that he focused on.  Some of the pens had scattered, thankfully free of the superglue, and Killian grabbed one - a Captain Hook pen that Roland had gifted him for his birthday last year - and tossed it across the desk at Robin.

“Oy!  My son spent his allowance on that.  Be careful!” Robin cried comically before bending down with over the top motions to gingerly pick up the pen from where it had clattered to the floor and placing it reverently on his own desk.

“Your son is five.  And I know you doubled his allowance the next week to make up for it,” Killian growled, but he knew there was no heat in the glare he afforded Locksley.  “Now, what have I missed?”

Robin sighed and looked to David for help.  Henry conveniently started scribbling in a notebook, looking for all the world as though he’d stumbled on a breakthrough worthy of a Nobel Prize or a Pulitzer.  David thumbed through the file on his desk, brows furrowed.  Killian knew he was contemplating what he was going to say next.

Killian sighed.  "What did my overprotective git of a brother threaten you with to keep me sidelined for another... what, a week?"

David nodded, still not looking up.  "You're not cleared until next week anyway, not really, so it's not like..."

"David."  It was an order, and not one Killian had any authority to give.  David was the senior officer in this hierarchy, had earned his detective badge before Killian and Locksley had even graduated from the Academy.  He was more or less the leader of their little band of misfits within the Homicide division.

He had been - still _was_ \- Liam's partner before...

David was in charge, probably always would be.

It didn't matter.  Killian wanted to know what he'd missed and wanted to get back to it and his older brother could stuff his overprotectiveness in his other pants.

"He just wants to make sure you're all right before you go out and scare him again," David muttered.  

Killian sighed, glared at all of them for good measure, and then uncapped the bottle of acetone.  Really, what was he supposed to say?  He almost didn't mind when, an hour later, the three of them left him behind to head out to a crime scene.

Almost.

"I can stay," Locksley had argued when the call came in and Killian had waved him off.  It wasn't Locksley's fault that he was sidelined, and neither of them were made to sit at a desk all day long.

Only one of them _had_ to and, he reasoned when Locksley still looked hesitant to abandon him, he had an entire desk of office supplies to liberate.  Killian promised not to get into trouble with Gold while they were gone if they'd bring him back coffee.

“I’ll bring you back a bear claw!” Mills piped up and he looked so bloody pleased with the prospect of helping that Killian couldn’t deny him the chance.

So now he sat, smelling strongly of nail polish remover and glaring at every single item on his desk that was still glued down.  This was going to take forev-

"Where's your Captain?" a voice interrupted his staring contest with the stapler.  Killian wanted to be happy for the reprieve, but the tone of voice made it hard to respond with anything but snark.

"Probably at home waiting for me to call him and complain about his partner's antics," was his knee-jerk response before he looked up to find who was asking.

The confusion on the woman's face wasn't nearly the reaction he was going for.  She was stunning, piercing green eyes glaring at him with far more force than his comment had necessitated.  This woman had a chip on her shoulder that could have rivaled the Grand Canyon, and she wasn't afraid to let anyone know it.

“Excuse me?” she asked and Killian could hear the careful control in her tone.

He was bored.  And probably shouldn’t have poked the bear, as it were but, as stated, he was bored.  And annoyed at his desk and his partners and… well, he should have known better.  “I’m a little busy here, lass.  If you want to take a number, I’ll get to you after this next pencil comes free.”

"You can try and stall me all you want, but I _will_ see Captain Gold and I _will_ investigate this case fully."  She jabbed a finger in his face so violently that he flinched - then scowled.  "You'd do better to help me out than to deflect, Buddy."

Killian blinked.  Then rethought the conversation and realized where he'd gone wrong.  "Apologies, lass.  I believe we got off on the wrong foot.  You're investigating Gold?"   _This_ could get interesting.

The woman - the Internal Affairs officer, if his assumptions were correct - scowled back at him.  "I didn’t say that.  But I'm going to do my job and you're not going to get in my way.  Understand?" she asked hotly.

"Aye.  Lieutenant Killian Jones, at your service.  You'll find Gold in his office, and if you need anything else, feel free to ask.  I'd be happy to give you my full and prompt attention, if you know what I mean," he said with a bit of a swagger, dripping with enough innuendo that he nearly cringed.  Liam's voice was in his head, shouting him down for not being a gentleman, but a plan was already forming in his head.  One that required the little mole Isaac, sitting at the desk next to his, to believe he wanted nothing more than a roll in the hay with the attractive woman in front of him.

If the look on the woman’s face - full of resigned disgust hiding the frustration and just a spark of something Killian couldn’t name - was any indication, he’d succeeded in lowering her opinion of him to somewhere beneath the reputation of a codfish.  He didn’t like how it made him feel - dirty and far too much like a villain for the shiny badge clipped to his belt.

But Isaac’s smarmy smirk and roll of his eyes made up for it.

_Perfect._

The woman was still standing there, staring at Killian like she wasn’t entirely sure if he should be investigated as well.

“I don’t believe I caught your name, Miss…”

“Detective.  And no, you didn’t,” she responded and Killian had to shrug it off.

It wouldn’t do to appear as though he cared one way or the other.  His relationship with Gold was common knowledge in the Department, but to be seen as too friendly with IA - whether or not it was intentional - wouldn’t go over well with the other Homicide detectives.

“As I said, _Detective_ , you’ll find Captain Gold in his office.  But if you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“I can see that,” the woman scoffed.  She nodded deftly at the bottle of acetone still in his hand.  “If all of Gold’s officers spend so much time like this, it’s no wonder we’re investigating.”

Now, Killian’s snarl was genuine.  He could feel the tension building in his shoulders, and wanted to defend the men in his unit.  Most of them had nothing to do with Gold’s tyranny and didn’t deserve her disdain.  But he could play the long game as well as the next man, and brushed the comment off as best he was able.

The smirk on her face let him know just how successful he _hadn’t_ been.

Sighing, Killian watched as the woman strutted across the bullpen with her head held high against the prejudices that he knew were being formed about her already.  It didn't matter that Gold was corrupt, that her investigation into him could only better the Homicide unit and the Boston Police Department in general.  All that mattered to them was that she was coming into their home and inferring that they couldn't take care of their own problems.

And Gold was a big problem.

That no one could prove.

He watched her as she entered the captain's office without knocking and then shut the door before Gold could possibly introduce himself or try to influence her opinion of him.  She definitely had a spark to her, stubborn and tenacious and he hadn't even exchanged more than a handful of words with her but, God, Killian would do anything to be a fly on the wall when she laid into Gold.

Turning his head back to his work, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Isaac wrote some things down in his notebook and then scurried back to his own desk, clearly done with spying on his target for Gold.  For now.  Killian would have to be careful if he was going to find a way to help her with her case.

Killian split his focus for the rest of the afternoon between unsticking all of the office supplies and his coffee mug (he was going to murder David and Henry and Robin, and probably his brother as well for _that_ ) and how he was going to convince this IA officer to listen to him away from prying eyes and ears.

It would be a fine line to walk, but he'd always relished a challenge.  And if it took Gold down in the process?  Well, Killian would sleep a little better at night if he knew that Milah's murderer was finally behind bars.

* * *

Emma blew out the breath she'd been holding only an instant before she stepped through the captain's door and slammed it shut.  She wasn't expecting a warm response, there wasn't an officer on the force who appreciated someone coming in and doing their job for them.  But Emma was good at her job and she didn't need some hotshot detective who thought he was God's gift to the police department getting in her way.  

And she _certainly_ had no intentions of letting Gold - the sleazy looking man leering at her from behind his desk - get under her skin.  He was just another mark, just another bastard who thought that because the state had given him a badge, he was above the law.  Emma had dealt with people like him all her life; this one was just a little slipperier than most.  He had to be well connected; no one got to his position with his alleged crimes under his belt without someone truly powerful backing him.  Emma was determined to find the connection between Gold and his backer so she could take them both down.

Along with anyone else who got in her way.

"Can I help you, dearie?" Gold asked with a sugar-coated sneer, his hands steepled in front of him like he was lord and savior of the Homicide unit.

"You can start by calling me Detective.  Detective Emma Swan, Internal Affairs."

If her assignment bothered or surprised him, Gold didn't show it.  He smiled genially at her, transforming in an instant from power hungry dictator to benevolent, if protective, supervisor.  He was good, she'd give him that.  If Emma didn't know what she was investigating him for - fraud, extortion, conduct unbecoming a police officer, excessive force ( _which in his case seemed an unnecessarily roundabout way to say torture_ ) - then she might have even bought the act.  But she'd read the reports and the accusations, seen the evidence that had been dropped on her desk by her own supervisor, and she wasn't going to fall for it.  Not from him.

Not when this case could make or break her career and get her off the B-team.  She wasn’t going to let anything get in her way.

“Always happy to be of assistance to your unit, Miss Swan,” he replied, teeth shining through his smile.  “May I inquire as to the subject of your investigation?”

“You may not.  I cannot, and will not, discuss an ongoing investigation, as you well know.  However, you’ll see here that I have the approval to conduct my search out of your offices and will expect your full cooperation in this matter.”

The words sounded stiff and formal, even though she’d said them to countless men like him over the years.

Gold scowled, some of the veneer falling away from his mask.  “You’ll have what you need.  I’ll have Isaac set you up with a desk and a conference room.”

Emma bit back the smirk.

Gold turned his back on her, seemingly interested in the file on his desk that he hadn’t been reading before she walked in.  “If that will be all, Miss Swan?”

“Absolutely…” she paused, a sneer of her own crossing her features at the blatant disrespect, “Mr. Gold.”

Gold looked up, utterly startled when she turned his scorn around on him.  Then a funny little smile crossed his face and Emma had a bad feeling that she’d just grabbed the tiger by the tail.

After a momentary staredown, Gold inclined his head and reached for the phone.  A quick conversation and a moment later a weaselly little man - who looked like he should be selling her something rather than wearing a badge - escorted her to a desk in the center of the bullpen.

_Perfect._

Emma scowled at everyone around her, feeling the glares and the judgments that she hadn't yet earned.  News traveled fast in a police station, and sometimes it felt like she was wearing a flashing, neon sign screaming out that she was IA.  Or worse, as though she was still that lost orphan in another new school with clothes that still smelled like the garbage bag all of her things had been packed in.  Unbidden, Emma's eyes tracked around the room, landing on the tousled hair and the hunched shoulders of Killian Jones.  He intrigued her; there had just been _something_ under the surface when he'd leered at her.  Something that, if she were pressed to think about it, she'd suspect was more genuine than the innuendo had been.  Emma's gut told her that he was relevant to this investigation.

She just didn’t know _how_ yet.

After making a note that she wanted to interrogate him within the next few days, Emma set about organizing the desk she'd been given.  She didn't need to; she already had a list of files she wanted to pull and a list of officers she needed to question based on the evidence she’d already compiled.  But jumping right into that wouldn't give her a true feel for the climate of the office she was currently stationed in.  Did the men and women working under Gold respect him?  Were they walking on eggshells?  Did they run their own ship and just afford him the title of captain?

And what about that idle comment Jones had made about _his_ captain being at home?

Emma sighed, dragging her thoughts away from the cocky lieutenant and back to the files in front of her.  The officers around her were slowly acclimating to her presence as the hours ticked by; it would be some time, still, before she could truly judge their loyalty to Gold. But, at least it was progress.  Eventually, the chatter built back up and the bustle around her began to ebb and flow with the shift.  Officers came and went and idle talk and discussion of their ongoing cases filtered through.  Emma looked up in time to notice as three men surrounded Jones's desk.  Their presence visibly took some of the weight off his shoulders that she hadn’t noticed before.

_Focus, Emma_ , she thought sternly, getting up to find a break room and a coffee machine.  Jones wasn't important.  Not yet, anyway.  All of the information that she’d compiled on him told her he was too much of a Boy Scout to be involved with Gold.  But she couldn't get him out of her head and she made a mental note to move him to the top of her interview list anyway.  There was some reason that he was pinging her radar, after all.  

_Besides,_ she thought with a glare as she handed the interview list to Isaac, _it will throw Gold off the trail if he’s_ not _involved in this._

“I’ll be sure to get everyone on board for you, Detective,” Heller assured her with a grin that made her shudder.   _He_ was definitely in bed with Gold and Emma couldn’t wait for the day that she would be able to punch that smarmy smile off his face.

Unable to do that at the moment, however, Emma just nodded and smiled as genially as she could manage when she was already trying to scrub him from her memory.  She waited until he had scurried away to pack up her files and those she’d had Isaac make available to her, locking them in her backpack - she'd be taking the most sensitive material home with her lest prying eyes get a little too curious.  Emma had gotten all she could out of the first day and there was a bath and a bottle of wine calling her name.

The second she stood up, all eyes turned on her, watching her with a mix of trepidation and hostility that was far too common in her line of work.  Without realizing it, she looked for the lieutenant, wanting to see what his reaction was, but Jones was long gone.  His partners met her stare with confusion but nothing more.  Either they hadn’t been read in as to who she was, or they were so far removed from the corruption within their office that they had nothing to lose by her presence there.

It was a surprisingly welcome realization.

It didn't take more than a handful of steps outside the bullpen for the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.  She didn't see anything out of place, didn't hear anyone or anything amiss, but she knew she was being followed.  Pulling out her personal phone, Emma kept walking while she clicked idly on one of the games that came installed when she'd gotten it.  Adding up even numbers to get to 2048 wasn't anything she was actually interested in, but it might just be enough to lull her stalker into a false sense of security.  It wasn't anything she didn't expect although the timing was a little more swift than usual.

Every time she stopped, pretending to get caught up in the game or looking around as if she were going to flag down a cab, there was no one there.  The feeling didn't go away, though, and Emma knew she'd have to take matters into her own hands if she wanted to get a leg up on whoever was following her.  Anyone who didn't want to be seen following her couldn't be up to anything good.

_Gold is awfully efficient_ , she thought as she turned a corner down a convenient alley that would be away from prying eyes and be too good to pass up for her would-be attacker.  She tensed at the soft sound of footsteps - careful and measured - behind her.  Whoever it was didn't want to seem as though he was following her, but Emma knew better.  She continued down the alley, looking up every once in awhile as if she weren't intimately aware with every nook and cranny around this precinct's station.  She was nearly at the end of the path, not sure if maybe her own paranoia was getting the best of her, when she felt a hand grab her shoulder.

"Det- oof."  Whatever her attacker was going to say got cut off as Emma whirled on him and ploughed her fist into his solar plexus.  Before he had a chance to recover, Emma followed her first blow with a well-placed jab to his chin that sent him stumbling back against the brick wall.  She stepped into his space, flinging open the folding knife she always kept handy and resting the flat of the blade under his chin, careful not to cut him but enough to send a message.

"You?" she exclaimed in utter disbelief a moment later.  Of all the people she'd thought would be willing to do Gold's dirty work for him, Lieutenant Jones was the last of them.

There were tears tracking down his cheeks and his forehead was scrunched in obvious pain.  He was wheezing with one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach even as the other reached up to grasp her wrist and keep the cold metal of the knife from cutting his skin.  When Killian opened his eyes, they were a bit wild and far too dazed for how hard she'd hit him.  Emma hadn't been aiming to incapacitate - only to send a message that she was going to do her job and she wasn't going to be intimidated by whomever Gold had sent to rough her up.

"I..." he gasped a little, "I needed to talk to you."

_Huh?_

Emma blinked, a bit thrown off by his words.  She'd convinced herself so thoroughly that whoever was following her wanted to do her harm that this... she wasn't prepared for this.  And still... "I think we said all we needed to at your desk earlier, Lieutenant."

Jones shook his head, risking the movement as she still had the knife to his throat.  He managed to let go of his ribs long enough to pinch the bridge of his nose - he looked like he had a migraine.

“Isaac…” he paused when Emma’s lip curled at the name, “He was standing behind you at my desk.  You can’t trust Isaac, lass.”

Emma rolled her eyes.   _Tell me something I don’t know_ , she thought in annoyance.

He huffed, eyes glancing down pointedly towards the knife.  Emma let him go, backing up slowly until there was enough space between them that he could sag down so that the wall was holding him up.  She didn’t fold the blade into its housing, though.

His eyebrow raised at that, but Emma wasn’t ready to trust him yet.

“Well?  What did you want?” she asked hotly.

He smirked, but there was something in his eyes that made her listen.

“Gold murdered my Milah.  I want to help you destroy him.”

 


	3. Reasonable Suspicion

Killian’s ears were still ringing from the blow the woman had landed across his jaw.  His lungs had only just started working again and he was sure that there would be bruises to hide from Liam in the morning.  To say that she’d taken him by surprise was an understatement.  He watched her carefully, the glint of the sun on the metal in her hand enough to keep him on edge.

“Gold… murdered someone,” Emma repeated, playing idly with the blade.  It wasn’t a question, but Killian nodded reluctantly anyway.

“I… I can’t prove it.”  He scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his frustration at _that_ before he continued.  “Yet.  The bloody crocodile was in the station when it happened and everything I’ve turned up is dead ends.  But I know he was responsible.  I know he killed her.  And if you’re here to investigate him, then-”

“How do you know that I’m investigating him?” she asked, and he could hear the suspicion dripping off every word.

Killian shrugged.  “You weren’t doing much to hide it.  And there’s not much else going on in the office other than Gold’s hubris, lass.  Not that would draw IA’s attention, anyway.  But I meant what I said, you can’t trust Isaac.  He’s so far into Gold’s pocket that I’m pretty sure they’re wearing the same pants.”

The woman nodded.  “I figured that out for myself, thanks.”

“Oh, you’re a tough lass.”  Killian was thrilled to see her finally fold up the knife and stuff it into a pocket.  “May I have the pleasure of your name now, Miss...?”

“Detective Swan,” she said, sticking out her hand for him to shake.  “Emma.”

Killian took her hand and, ignoring the widening of her eyes in surprise, pulled it up to kiss her knuckles in a show of exaggerated chivalry.  

“Pleased to meet you, Swan,” he said over her knuckles, tightening his grip when she tried to pull away.  “I think we’re going to make quite the team.”

She scoffed.  “Who said I was going to work with you?”

“The way I see it, we’re looking for the same thing.  We can either keep working separately, or” - he shrugged again, still refusing to let go of her hand - “we can pool our resources.  Put Gold and whoever’s making it so easy for him to sit pretty in that office behind bars.”

Emma smiled sweetly, drawing a grin from him that he couldn’t help, before she struck, twisting his grip around until she had him shoved face first against the brick.

“Bloody-”

“Let’s get one thing straight, buddy,” she interrupted his cursing.  “Your charm might work on someone else, but not me.  You give me what you have on Gold and maybe… _maybe_ I’ll think about keeping you in the loop.  But I’m not going to just trust you because you say so.  For all I know, you’re just as far into Gold’s pocket as your buddy Isaac.”

“I’d never be caught dead working with him,” Killian muttered against the wall, chagrined to realize that she had him completely incapacitated.  “We’re on the same side, luv.”

“Not your love.  You can call me Detective.”  She released him as quickly as she’d restrained him, stepping back and glaring before he could even turn around.  She was strong, she was guarded, and she was dangerous.  But she wanted Gold behind bars and he’d worked with less in the past.  

“Detective,” he allowed with a nod, “I think we can help each other.  And you could use someone on the inside, yeah?”

He could see her mulling it over, the indecision written on her face as clearly as words on a page.  There was something about her, despite the knife she’d pulled on him.  He knew her job wasn’t easy, knew that the majority of their colleagues would rather vilify her than praise her for taking an impossible job and making it hers.  But there was more than that hiding in the depths of her eyes.  A deeper hurt that resonated with him.  She had the look of someone who’d been thrown away like garbage and it made Killian all the more grateful to remember that Liam had always been there for him.

Even if he was going to take the long way home to avoid the Spanish Inquisition and resultant mollycoddling that was going to come the second Liam saw the bruise forming on his chin.

Her eyes narrowed, searching him, and Killian waited for her to make a decision.

He smiled in triumph a moment before she sighed.  “I don’t like working with partners, Jones.”

Killian waited.  She was going to let him help, he just had to be patient and not push it.

“But you’re right” - it sounded as if it cost her something to admit that - “that it wouldn’t hurt to have a set of eyes and ears that your coworkers wouldn’t expect.  We do this _my way_ , got it?”

“Of course, Swan.  You’re in charge.”  Killian held out his hand to shake hers again.

She glanced at it.  “I’m not going to kiss _your_ knuckles, you know.”

His answering grin was so wide that his cheeks hurt., but Emma didn’t seem to notice.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jones.  Watch your back, all right?”

“I’ve got plenty of people in my corner who will do that for me, lass.  Keep your eyes up, yeah?”

Killian thought he heard her mutter, “Must be nice,” before she disappeared around the corner.  He nodded to himself, turning back to the main road and heading towards the subway station.  There was a kernel of hope that hadn’t been there before, a tendril of possibility that Killian wanted to grab onto with both hands and tug.  He wasn’t the only one anymore, the only one who saw Gold as more than just an untouchable and necessary evil.  Still, they’d have to tread lightly.  Gold wouldn’t hesitate to take them down to keep himself safe.

“Jones?” Locksley called, pulling Killian out of his thoughts.  “What are you doing down here, mate?  Get lost?”

Killian knew he was joking - mostly - but he could hear the worry in his tone.  “Aye mate, thought I parked the Benz down here.”  He managed to keep a straight face long enough for Robin’s hand to twitch towards the phone on his belt.

“Bugger off!” Robin spat when the grin on Killian’s face gave away the joke.

Killian sobered immediately at Locksley’s tone.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, moving out of the alley to catch up with his partner.

Robin glared at him before walking towards the subway station.  “We were all worried, you know.  You woke up in the ER and you didn’t know _Liam_.”

_What?_

Killian whipped his head around to catch Robin’s eye and he grabbed his partner’s arm when Locksley wouldn’t even look at him.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Robin grumbled.

Some of Liam’s hovering over the past few weeks started to make more sense.  His brother could give the fiercest mama bear a run for her money on a good day, so Killian hadn’t thought _too_ much about it.  He couldn’t have named the emotion half-hidden in Liam’s eyes every time he’d fussed over Killian, not then.  But he also didn’t remember much between seeing Hades in the alley and waking up to Liam’s mother henning in the hospital room he’d suffered through forty-eight hours of observation with ill disguised grace.

Maybe not so much on the ‘disguised’ end of the spectrum.

“I don’t remember that,” he muttered when Robin’s concerned stare went on too long.

His partner nodded.  “We figured as much.  And Liam said not to say anything when you woke up again and everything had seemed to settle.”

“Of course he did,” Killian mumbled under his breath amidst a sigh.

_Fear_.  That was what Liam had been trying in vain to suppress.  Killian had scared him again.  While he remembered only a knock to the head, Liam had been forced to wait for him to wake up, not knowing if he’d remember his own brother when he did.

There had been plenty of scares in their careers - they were both police officers, after all - and injuries were par for the course.  Both he and Liam had spent their share of sleepless nights at their brother’s bedside and the fear that came with that was all-encompassing, but mostly fleeting.  It had to be, or they’d never get back out on the streets.

But Killian remembered when Liam had woken up shaking and couldn’t stop - not quite seizing, but close enough to send a tendril of pure terror coursing through him.  He remembered how close he had stayed those first few weeks as the neurotoxin settled in Liam’s bloodstream and allowed him to resume most of his daily activities.  He remembered that fear.   _That_ was what Liam had been dealing with over the last couple weeks as Killian recovered.  The unknown quantity.

Didn’t mean that Killian wasn’t going to find a way to exact revenge for the super glue, though.  It wouldn’t do to let Liam - and by extension, David - think they could get away with nonsense like that _just_ because they were ‘older and wiser’ as it were.

He and Robin parted ways at the corner, the bustle of the city at rush hour serving to make the headache that Swan had exacerbated even worse.  It would be sheer luck if Liam didn’t take one look at him and blow a gasket.  He recalled a scene in one of the Harry Potter movies where Harry had been locked in his bedroom - it didn’t take too much of an imagination to picture Liam trying the same tactic.

Swan occupied his thoughts on the ride home, their two brief interactions playing on a loop as he pondered over her - who _was_ she really?  What made her tick?  Why had she chosen to go into Internal Affairs?  She was clearly tough enough to be on the streets and he didn’t think that outside perceptions of her would have swayed her away from a beat patrol before moving up the ranks.

_What does she have on Gold?_

Killian hadn’t been this intrigued by a woman since the day he’d first set eyes on Milah.  He’d been sitting alone in Finnegan’s Tavern, a bottle of Sam Adams forgotten on the table in front of him and his brother off in another corner of the bar getting them something to eat.  She’d been stunning to look at, sitting by herself as well and nursing a glass of wine as sharp eyes darted around the room.  Her curls falling loose over her back, the lost look in her eyes, all of it intrigued him and he wanted to know more.

It hadn’t taken long for Killian to forget that Liam was even there with him; he’d approached her and been regretfully turned down that evening, but she hadn’t left his thoughts.  Who was she and why did she look so sad?

Every minute with her was a gift - and Gold had torn it from his grasping fingers.  She’d been Killian’s for a few precious-

“What the bloody _hell_ happened?” The voice broke through his musings.

Killian sighed audibly.  As expected, he’d barely managed to get the door open before Liam had pounced on him.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, if only in deference to the headache, and waited for the inevitable inspection.

“You’re supposed to be on deskwork!”  Liam stomped through the kitchen, reaching out to turn Killian’s head closer to the light.  Killian hadn’t seen the bruise yet, but he could feel it - blood pooling hot and pulsing just under the skin of his jaw, a stark reminder of what it was to be on Emma Swan’s bad side.  Liam poked at the bruise, drawing a hushed grunt of pain and - if possible - the frown on his brother’s face deepened to new levels.

Mindful of what Robin had let slip, Killian tolerated the inspection as patiently as he could manage, for as _long_ as he could manage.  It didn’t take too long before he was batting Liam’s prodding fingers away anyway.  “It’s _fine_ , brother.  I spent the entire bloody day sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs like a good boy, all right?”

The smirk on Liam’s face flashed for only an instant before it was hidden behind a mask, but Killian didn’t miss it.  He glared and pointedly didn’t mention the super glue nor the fact that he likely still smelled like nail polish remover.  He just wanted a shower and some ibuprofen and something to drink.

“So how’d you get the bruise then?” Liam asked, his fingers twitching like he wanted to poke and prod at it some more.

Killian moved safely out of reach before he snarked back.  “I was attacked by a Swan on my way home.  It took us awhile to come to an understanding.”

Liam just blinked.  Killian waited just long enough to see the confusion start to turn to concern before he cracked a smile, waving his brother off and rooting through the fridge for a drink.  The shower would have to wait until Liam was satisfied, but at least he could get rid of the cottony feeling in his mouth.

“Killian!”

He sighed.  “Relax, brother.  I’m fine.  There’s an IA officer looking into Gold.  She and I… we didn’t get off on the right foot, so when I went to try again…” he trailed off, waving over his jaw.

Liam snickered, a look on his face that left Killian’s ears red.  “I assume you put things right, little brother?”

“Younger, Liam,” he whined, cringing a little at how petulant he sounded.  It wasn’t a new argument and, truth be told, it wasn’t one Killian ever expected to win.  He didn’t even mind too much when Liam didn’t acknowledge the ‘correct’ moniker as he moved to pull dinner out of the oven.  It would be all too easy to make a remark about him becoming a good housewife and Killian patted himself on the back for not giving in to the temptation.

It was a close call, but he’d plan something better in retaliation for his desk.

* * *

Emma sunk into the steaming bath water with an audible sigh.  She’d left the light off, several candles burning away merrily and filling the small room with soothing scents.  There was a glass of wine on the bath caddy and a book lying face down that she only sort of intended to read.  It didn’t take too long for the heat to seep into Emma’s muscles and she relaxed into a boneless heap in the water.  However much she had intended to leave work at work, she couldn’t get that interaction with Jones out of her head.  She had no reason to feel bad; he’d been sneaking up on her, she had plenty of experience with loyal cops showing her how they felt about her investigations, he’d been _sneaking up on her_.

And yet.

Killian Jones was far more than a pretty face.  If he was telling her the truth, he’d been grievously wronged by Gold and could be a valuable asset in her investigation.  The key was to get in and get out without getting attached.  He was a tool in her arsenal, nothing more.  His sarcastic quips and the over-the-top chivalry weren’t going to change anything - she was at the precinct to do a job and that was it.

Bringing someone like Gold to justice would more than make her career.  It would make the other detectives start to take her seriously, a woman in a man’s world.  She would love nothing more than to wipe the indulgent smirks off the faces of the men in her office.  It might be nice to be able to peek out of the armor a little bit.  Occasionally.

The water slowly cooled and her glass ran dry, but Emma still lingered in the half haze of sleep that she’d slipped into.  It was simple here, in the sanctuary of her apartment, away from all the drama and the politics and the intrigue of her cases and her interoffice relationships.  She didn’t have to hide behind the mask she’d crafted or question every interaction she had.  Here, there was just her and the safety of her loneliness.

When the water was finally a few degrees too cold to be comfortable, Emma stood and wrapped herself in a towel.  She tried not to bring her work home with her; it was hard enough to deal with it during work hours.  But with the addition of Jones to her arsenal - and her constant thoughts, it seemed - she’d have to come up with a new plan of attack.  Emma wasn’t used to having to consider another person on her side in her investigations.  They’d tried to rope her into working with a partner before but it never stuck.  They were too inept or she was too prickly, too stubborn, too set in her ways to listen to their ideas.

It was better if she worked alone, that was all there was to it.

Over the next few days, Emma did what Emma did best: she ignored Killian Jones completely.  She had plenty of interviews to conduct and spent half of her time driving across the state to follow up with the men and women Gold had put behind bars as well as some he hadn’t.  They all had precisely the same thing to say about him.

Absolutely nothing.

Emma didn’t need her ‘super power’ to tell that they were - to the very last man - terrified to speak out against Gold.  Someone had gotten to them before her and had bought their silence.  It left her irritable and exhausted, unwilling to play the game when Isaac cornered her in the bullpen to “see what she needed.”

She _needed_ to punch someone in the face.

As it was, putting her fist across Isaac’s jaw _probably_ wouldn’t do anything but get her suspended and put the investigation that much further behind.  Instead, she plastered on a smile that she hoped looked sincere enough to pass muster and asked for another batch of files that had nothing to do with Gold or the charges against him, hoping that the little weasel would run back to his master and crow about her apparent ineptitude.  She’d have to steer the investigation formally towards Gold at some point, but she needed _something_ concrete to go on before then.  All she had right now were allegations and rumors that were - so far - unfounded.  Emma didn’t believe for a moment that the accusations listed in her file were false, but she needed to find some kind of evidence.  Even the evidence from the investigation into Milah Gold was hazy at best and - as Jones had said - didn’t point to Gold’s involvement at all.

The case had, very pointedly in fact, implicated Killian Jones in her murder.  Even if Emma hadn’t heard it in his voice the day she’d nearly knocked him out in that alley, she was no longer uncertain about how much Jones had loved Milah.  It was written all over the interrogations, the track the evidence had taken, in every entry from the detective who’d investigated.  Killian had been cleared quickly - which surprised Emma given Gold’s power - but the damage must have been done.

The problem was, it was all too clean.  There was no way that the woman’s brake lines had been cut and _no one_ had been spotted near her car in the police station’s parking garage.  The video surveillance gave Emma - and anyone else who had investigated, namely K. Jones on a near-weekly schedule - a perfect view of Milah’s car.  Emma watched as the woman got out of the vehicle and walked out of frame, then stared at nothing of note for the half hour she’d been gone, and finally saw her come back to her car and drive away.

All of it was too clean.  Every case that Gold had closed, every murderer that he’d convicted, on paper they were all perfectly by the book.  Every ‘i’ was dotted and every ‘t’ was crossed.  On paper, there was no reason to suspect that he’d ever stepped a toe across the line.  But all it took was one look at him to know that he was dirty.  All it took was one readthrough of the case file that had been compiled to get the sick feeling in her stomach.  Gold needed to be tried for his crimes and, hopefully, the evidence against him would be compelling enough that not even whoever was backing him would come out with their hands clean.

That was Emma’s job, and she looked forward to the end results.  She did _not_ , however, enjoy the monotony that came with trying to keep her investigation under wraps.  She had Isaac pull Jones’s case files today, trying to get a glimpse into the lieutenant’s process in attempts to understand him better.  The mole at her side grinned snidely when he’d commented that it was only a matter of time before Jones was investigated.

“His promotion was a little _too_ convenient,” he crowed before elbowing her in the side in apparent camaraderie, “if you know what I mean.”

Emma stepped pointedly away and resisted the urge to roll her shoulder and stretch where he’d impacted her ribs.  Instead, she smiled in feigned interest and cocked her head to the side.  “Oh, really?” she asked, hoping Isaac would latch on to the ruse.

He did.

“Oh yes, I could tell you all about Lieutenant Jones and how he came to be in our humble department.  Did you know that he was still on patrol just over a year ago?”

She hadn’t.

“Captain Gold requested that his promotion track be accelerated personally.  I’ve never understood it, of course.  Jones is nothing but a problem.  The captain tolerates him, but if you ask _me_ , there’s something fishy about it, because the two of them… well, to say they’re like cats and dogs would be insulting to those poor animals.  And yet…” Isaac trailed off meaningfully, his eyes tracking across the bullpen to where Jones had just entered.  Instead of finishing his statement, he just shrugged as if the lieutenant’s presence was answer enough.

It didn’t make any sense.  From what she could tell, Jones was a Boy Scout.  She wouldn’t be surprised to find an Eagle Scout award in his history.  She’d known there was no way that he was being backed by Gold - even before she knew what she did about his history with the captain’s former wife.  But the mysterious benefactor… Emma didn’t know anything about him.  Yet.  It was possible that Gold was just an unfortunate middle man, or that they were both trying to force Jones into a position where he couldn’t get free of them.  It was _possible_ , she supposed, that Jones was in on the whole thing and was playing her to get information.

Even as she thought it, the voice inside her head laughed at her.  No, Jones wasn’t involved with Gold or his backer.  If he was, then she would turn in her badge and gun and take up a job at the local Walmart.  Emma wasn’t good at people, but she was good at _reading_ them.  It made her successful as a detective and horrible to play poker against, but she’d take the former over the latter any time.  A cop who couldn’t trust her gut was a dead cop and Emma liked breathing too much not to hone that skill.

Emma focused on Isaac’s retreating back as he headed for the file room - now _he_ was definitely working for Gold, and not in the official capacity.  She’d do anything to have him far away from her and her investigation, if only for the drop in stress that would entail.

She almost missed the note on her desk, tucked away under the file marked K. Jones that she’d purposely left out.  Who had been near her desk?  And what did they want? 

_Atlantis Marina, 8pm tonight._

_It’ll be worth it._

Emma supposed she’d have to go to the marina to find out.  She wasn’t naive, but she wasn’t cautious by nature, either.  She _would_ , however, be there well before eight in order to get the lay of the land.

Emma worked for a few more hours, digging into Killian’s past just in case her gut was wrong.  She finally dug past the insubordination claims that Gold seemed to file on a regular basis and burrowed deep enough into his file to find a redacted report of drunk and disorderly conduct that had never been closed or prosecuted.  Further digging, however, revealed that the date of the report coincided with the date of Milah Gold’s funeral, so Emma put it out of her mind.  If the man needed a little bit of liquid courage to say goodbye to a woman he clearly loved, then who was she to judge him?

Five o’clock came all too suddenly and Emma locked up the files she didn’t plan on taking home with her before signing out the ones she did.  With evening traffic, it could take twenty minutes or it could take forever to get to the marina, and she wanted plenty of time to walk the perimeter and see if she could get an upper hand on whoever had left the note for her.  At the very least, she wanted escape routes and a good vantage point of the entrance before whoever planned on meeting her showed up.  Emma texted the address to Ruby and Dorothy in case she needed back up, but declined their offer to come down and stake out the place.  She had a sneaking suspicion as to whose handwriting that had been, and didn’t think she’d need any of the precautions she was taking.

But Emma had been burned before.

The marina was well maintained.  The lights in the parking area and along the docks provided very few shadows that someone could ambush her from and there were men and women in security uniforms patrolling the docks at random intervals.  Emma found that she already had a reserved parking space in the guest lot, and the attendant there knew who she was - pointing out that the boat she was looking for was in its slip on B-dock.

The _Jolly Roger_.  

Emma could see it from where she was standing on another dock - she wasn’t _entirely_ sure which dock it was - sitting jauntily in the water and inviting her to come aboard.  As if a boat could _be_ jaunty and inviting.  There were lights on in the… she thought it was called a cockpit but wouldn’t lay money down on it.  But no one was aboard.

It wasn’t new by any means, but it was clearly well cared for.  The hull gleamed in the lights and the name on the back was crisp-lettered and pristine.  There were a few dings here and there along the hull and the railing, but the metal shined and the windows were streak-free.  She had a feeling that whoever owned the boat would be put off by the small imperfections, but was clearly proud of his - or her - ownership.

“You can see her up close, if you like,” Jones’s voice whispered in her ear.

She whirled around, fists up and ready to defend herself.  There was a moment of terrifying weightlessness as she stepped back, expecting her foot to impact solid wood and instead finding open air.  Emma’s eyes widened in surprise and her breath caught in her throat even as she flailed and caught Killian’s outstretched hands.  He pulled her close and Emma latched onto his shoulders, fingers tight in his leather jacket as she tried to convince herself that she was on solid ground again.

“ _Damnit_ , Jones!” she shouted in his face.  He was terrifyingly close.

He shrugged, the muscles under her fingers bunching with the movement.  She realized, a bit belatedly, that she still hadn’t let go of him.  Nor he of her.  Emma shoved him back, putting enough space in between them that her heart finally started to slow down.  It rankled her a bit that he didn’t stumble, just swayed with the push and stood tall.

She glared at him.  “I could have fallen in!”

Killian just smirked, something dangerous in his eyes.  “That’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time, don’t stand on ceremony.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “You wish, buddy.”

He finally stepped back, although Emma got the feeling he’d have stayed there if he thought he could get away with it.  He clasped his hands behind his back, instead, and rocked back on his heels.  “I meant what I said, though.  You can see her up close, if you like.”

Emma just looked at him in askance.

“You… you _did_ get my note, didn’t you?”

She pulled the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.  “And how, exactly, was I supposed to know it was from you?”

“I signed it,” he explained with a funny little grin, taking the note from her and smoothing it out against his leg.  “See?”

Emma looked where he’d turned the paper over, the small caricature of a hook and a swan in the bottom corner.  She’d seen the drawing, of course, but she still didn’t understand.  She stared at him incredulously, before asking again,  “And how, exactly, was I supposed to know it was from you?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly sign my own name, could I?” Jones shrugged.  “Not with your little shadow combing every piece of paper on your desk at all times.  It’s all very cloak and dagger, you see, and who’s better at that than a pirate?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder to the nameplate on the back of Killian’s boat.  “You had an unhealthy obsession with Peter Pan as a child, didn’t you?”

“Never liked the little demon,” he replied, matter of fact.  “Always thought that Captain Hook was the hero of that fairy tale.”

“Even with the waxed moustache and the perm?”

Killian smirked.  “You never read the book, did you?  Captain Hook was devilishly handsome, after all.  Like me,” he preened a little.

Emma just shook her head.  He didn’t need the ego boost - _clearly_.  “So what are we doing here, Jones?”

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention.  You’ve been avoiding me, lass.”  Killian shrugged.  “I thought…”

“We can’t exactly be seen working together,” Emma defended her actions.  “I haven’t been _avoiding_ you.”

She totally had.

One of Killian’s eyebrows raised pointedly.  “You might find this a surprising attribute in a detective, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive and this” - he gestured between them - “this is avoiding me.”

Emma nodded in spite of herself.  There was no use denying what was painfully obvious anyway.  “So… what?  You thought you’d lure me here with a mystery and…” she shrugged emphatically, waiting for an explanation.

The tips of Killian’s ears went a little bit pink.  “One of the first things my brother taught me after I graduated the academy was to limit the amount of work I brought home with me.  I know that with Isaac lurking about you’re probably trying to throw him off and that’s got to be exhausting.  I thought that you… that _we_ could use the _Jolly_ as some kind of, I don’t know, an in between or something.”

Emma blinked.

Killian just shrugged.  “I want to help, Swan.  I _need_ to help put him away.  For Milah.  For… for me.  We can’t exactly advertise that we’re working together, I get that.  But I can help you.”

There was a reason Emma didn’t work with a partner.  She did her own thing, her own way, on her own terms.  The only one who she risked being hurt was her and the only one who was responsible for the outcome of her cases was her.  She had worked with someone else a time or two, but not since she’d moved to Internal Affairs; she found it just wasn’t worth it.

But maybe just this once, with a case this big and a willing pawn in Killian Jones, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.  The appeal of having someplace away from both prying eyes and her own sanctuary was strong.  Part of Emma still balked - she was better off alone, history had shown her that time and time again - but she pushed past it for the sake of her case.

“All right, Jones, let’s see this boat of yours.”

* * *

It didn’t take them long to cover the entirety of the aft cabin in paperwork.  Liam would have a fit if he decided to take her out for more than a brief afternoon, but seeing Gold’s demise come together piece by piece was worth the strife Killian knew he’d hear about.  Emma had already cobbled together a timeline of Gold’s career, listing cases and complaints alike along with his promotions and the men and women he’d promoted himself. 

Killian bristled when he saw his own name listed, the blue star next to his name signifying Gold’s personal involvement in the transfer.  “Swan, just so you know, this wasn’t… _I_ didn’t…” he trailed off, still looking at his name on the timeline and uncertain how to explain.

Emma slid another paper over the top of that one, this one listing unsolved cases that Gold had sent to the Cold Case division.  “You can tell me in your own time,” she allowed with a small smile.

He nodded.  Killian couldn’t deny that the promotion had been a bit of grabbing the tiger by the tail.  He knew Gold had it out for him, would try his best to make Killian’s life miserable.  But Liam and David had already been in Homicide before Milah’s death and Killian had longed for the chance to work beside his brother.  Then he’d met Milah and thought that the price he would have to pay for falling for her was his dream of being partnered with Liam.  After her murder, he’d stopped caring _how_ he got to Liam’s side, he just knew he couldn’t do it anymore without his brother.  Any of it.  The transfer had seemed like the universe paying him back - a little - for stealing Milah from him.  And then Liam had been injured because of him and now… well, now it was all about taking down Gold.  Killian couldn’t deny that he didn’t really _care_ what happened to his career after that.

Or to himself.

Maybe he should take Liam up on that offer to move to the private sector, after all.

“Are you even listening, Jones?” Emma’s annoyed question made him realize she’d been trying to get his attention for quite some time.

He shook his head apologetically, scratching behind one ear and attempting a smirk.  He could feel how forced it was and the look on Emma’s face proved that she wasn’t buying it either.  “Apologies, lass, I got a bit caught up in my head.”

“I said, it’s getting late and we should probably get out of here.  Do we need to pack this up, or…” she looked at him in askance.

Killian shook his head.  “No.  No one but myself and my brother have keys to the cabins and I’ll let him know that this is all here.”  He groaned internally at the idea of telling Liam about all this - the mess and what he was about to do next.  Regardless of Liam’s opinion on the matter, however, he reached into his pocket and handed her a keychain with a pirate ship on it.

Emma stared at it for a moment.

“It’s not going to bite you, lass.  I just thought that…” he shrugged.  “Well, you need access to the cabin and I might not always be able to get you here.  Smee is the parking attendant you met earlier; he knows to let you have the guest parking space whenever you’d like it and you’re on the list of approved guests with access to the boat.  No one will bother you.”

She finally reached out and snagged the key, turning the little ship over in her hands.  “It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Emma asked with a smirk that made the tips of Killian’s ears go hot.

“The appeal of Neverland as a child - an escape where time would stop and I could have all the time in the world to figure out how to get what I wanted - it was intoxicating.  I guess it’s never really left me.”  He paused and raised one eyebrow.  “Although I still think the bloody demon of that island would have made life miserable there.”

Emma laughed, finally putting the key in her pocket after further inspection.  She followed him out onto the deck, but didn’t make a move to climb onto the dock again.

“And what did a young Killian Jones want that he couldn’t have?” she asked lightly, a glint of something in her eyes that Killian wanted to understand.

He shrugged in what he hoped was nonchalance.  That wasn’t a tale he was ready to get into yet.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he deflected instead.

There was a look in Emma’s eyes that told Killian she might just understand what it was he and Liam had been searching for all those years - a home.

“Perhaps I would.”


	4. Murder One

“You’re late, Jones,” Locksley grumbled over a cup of coffee that was two sizes larger than he normally ordered.

Killian’s eyebrow rose at the caffeine more than the comment.  It was ungodly early and the chill in the air was more than he wanted to deal with, but Robin was usually more of a morning person.  “Rough night?” he asked anyway.

“Aye, mate,” Robin agreed with a sigh.  “Roland’s been having nightmares.  I don’t think Regina and I have spent a night alone in our bed in over a-”

“La la la la la,” Jones snarked, comically covering his ears.  “I don’t need to know about your love life with the Evil Queen, thanks.  Is Roland all right, though?”

Robin ignored the dig to his wife’s overbearing nature towards Jones in favor of answering about his son.

“I think so.  Regina thinks it’s just a phase he’s going through.”  He shrugged.  “Scarlet had him the other night when we went out and showed him _Wizard of Oz_.  He keeps waking us up to tell us there’s a flying monkey coming after him.”

Killian muttered, “Bloody flying monkeys; nasty beasts,” under his breath.  He shuddered in spite of himself and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.  He’d never liked _The Wizard of Oz_ ; not after that one home where it had been the only videotape they’d been allowed and one of the other children had insisted on watching it every night.

“Aye, it seems Roland feels the same as you do, mate.  Hopefully it will pass soon or Will’s going to have his own turn with my lovely little munchkin sleeping over.”  Robin smirked over his coffee before he reached into the open window of his car and produced another to-go cup.

Killian nearly snatched it out of his hands, breathing in the scent of Earl Grey that wafted out of the top.  “I love you,” he muttered, not entirely sure if he was talking to the tea or to his partner.

Robin took another few sips of his coffee before leading them down onto the beach towards the caution tape wrapped around the pilings.  The smell of the ocean and the sound of the surf usually calmed him, but today Killian felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that always came with finding a new body.  Who was the victim?  What happened to them?  Why had their killer done it?  When had the motive started to take form?  Where would the evidence take them?

Would he and Robin be able to bring the killer to justice?

He could just see Archie Hopper, the medical examiner, hunched over the body, the small waves from the outgoing tide thankfully nowhere close to his work - yet.  Any homicide near the water was difficult - the evidence needed to be collected quickly before it was washed away or degraded irreparably.  Killian loved the sea, but she could be a fickle beast when she wanted to be and nothing brought out her vindictive side like a death on her shores.

_You haven’t had enough sleep, mate_ , he thought wryly to himself, tearing his eyes from the horizon to duck under the tape and approach Hopper’s side.  

The victim was male, well built and thus not likely to go quietly into the night as it were.  He was facedown in the sand, his hair matted with blood from what looked like a blow to the back of his head.  There were strands of rope tied tightly around his wrists - he’d been bound with his hands behind his back for some time based on the bruising Killian saw there.  Whoever had subdued him hadn’t wanted to take any chances, not with the sheer number of times the rope had been knotted.

“What do you know, Doc?” Robin asked, a camera already plastered to his face as he took pictures from every angle.

“Male victim.  Early thirties.  Caucasian,” was all Hopper said, his voice distracted as he continued to take notes.

Killian sighed to himself.  He hated this part - the waiting for the ME to clear the scene.  Logically, he knew that there were protocols for a reason.  But it didn’t help when he wanted to jump in with both feet and start collecting his own evidence.  To start forming his own theories on what happened.

“Time of death?” he asked instead, flourishing the pen that Liam had given him when he’d graduated the Academy over the small notebook.  A bit old school, perhaps, but he had always preferred the feel of scratching down his notes on paper, just like his brother had.  Besides, the tablets that the department provided were far more bulky and able to be hacked.

He hadn’t trusted them since the investigation into Milah’s death had stalled.

Hopper shook his head.  “It’s gonna take me a minute, Lieutenant.  I haven’t gotten to a liver temp yet and the water was cold last night anyway.  Might need to get him back to my table before I have all that for you.”

“All right, just let me know when we can-”

“I know, Jones,” Hopper interrupted him.

Robin snickered under his breath before hastily taking another sip of his coffee, stifling a cough when he swallowed too quickly.  The camera bobbed where it hung around his neck, and Robin’s hand came up automatically to still it.  He waved off Killian’s glare good-naturedly before moving off under the pier.

“Just…” Killian trailed off, thinking.  “Just move quickly, all right?”

There was something about this case that was already prickling at the edge of his consciousness.  He had no reason to suspect that this was more than just another murder - one of dozens he’d investigated in the last year alone - but he’d learned to trust his instincts.  Whoever this man was, he was important.

Killian just wished he knew why already.

“Gaston LeGume.”

“Excuse me?” Killian turned back towards Hopper from where he’d been staring out at the horizon.  It sounded like the man had choked.

Hopper smiled wryly.  “The vic’s name,” he said, waving a wallet at Killian.

Killian practically snatched the leather bifold out of Hopper’s gloved hand, pawing through the cards and receipts inside.  There was a faculty ID for an adjunct professor’s position at Emerson College that the ME had gotten the victim’s name from.  He found it curious that there was no license slipped among the cards and money.  There was, however, a hotel key-card for the Doubletree hotel and a hastily scrawled note that was nearly illegible as the ink had been erased by the tide.  Killian thought he could make out “11PM” in what was left of the ink, but he wasn’t sure.  Forensics would be able to tell him in a few days, but while he was a patient man, he was also chomping at the bit for information.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hopper and his assistant rolled the body into an opened body bag.  If there had been any doubt if this was a premeditated murder beforehand, it was thoroughly erased by the sight of the man’s bruised and lacerated face.  Whoever had killed him had taken their time about it.  Most of the bruising appeared to be a few days old, going yellow around the edges and faded.  There was a gaping wound on his cheek that must have bled profusely.  Killian hoped that the forensics crew would be able to swab the wound for evidence even after the dunking the victim’s body had taken.

“Looks like he was killed elsewhere and dumped here,” Hopper acknowledged the scene around him with a nod.  “The tide might have washed away most of the blood, but it’s still too pristine around him.  I’d guess they dumped him off the end of the pier and he washed back up this way.”

_Bloody fantastic_ , Killian thought sourly, turning away from the scene.  “Tell Locksley I’m going up above,” he muttered over his shoulder, already walking away.  A body dump meant two scenes to control, it meant the killer had more time to try and erase evidence at the actual murder scene, it meant more work and dreaded paperwork for Killian.

It also meant more twists and turns to occupy his brain with, and Killian looked forward to that challenge at least.  The longer he spent working on this case and helping Swan, the less time he had alone to think.  To remember.  To grieve.

To miss Milah.

The familiar stabbing in his chest caused Killian to pause momentarily, resisting the urge to clench his hand over his heart to feel its steady beat.  God, he missed her.  No matter whether or not he was actively thinking of her, Milah was always there, just waiting for a moment’s distraction to show up in his thoughts.  She’d been like that in life as well, showing up at the station when he’d been on duty for what seemed like months instead of hours or meandering past the ship until he noticed her and nodded her aboard.  He’d never thought that he’d have to think about life without her, but here he was.  Alone.

Killian visualized himself putting a lock on those memories again, trying to focus on what was right in front of him so that he could do his job.  LeGume might be dead, but he still deserved his killer be brought to justice.

It was Killian’s job to do just that.

Thankfully, like the sand below, the pier had been cordoned off as well.  It was a good thing, as there was already a small crowd of fishermen and tourists alike crowding around the patrol officers tasked with keeping them from contaminating any evidence.  Killian graced the men with a nod before ducking under the tape, moving quickly away from the pack of gawkers before they could turn their attentions on him.  One of the officers had clearly been down the way already, yellow numbered placards strategically placed along the path.  When Killian bent to see what they’d found, he noticed the trail of blood they were marking.  Killian backtracked swiftly to find Graham Humbert waiting patiently near the tape but away from the hoard of onlookers.

“I tracked the blood as far back as it went, Jones,” he began before Killian could even ask the question.  “Either the perp drove halfway onto the pier, or the vic didn’t start leaking until that first mark.  It didn’t rain last night or anything.”

Killian nodded, not quite meeting Humbert’s eyes, but not letting on to the idle observer that he was committing the crowd to memory either.  “What else do you know, Graham?” he asked conversationally, his mind running a mile a minute ahead of him.   Surveillance cameras, witness statements, there had to be some trace of how the victim had ended up over the side of the pier.

“The vic went over about two thirds of the way down,” Graham pointed out where another officer was talking to Robin.  Killian realized that he had no idea when his partner had come up, but was glad to see him already taking pictures.

Leaving Graham to his own work, Killian moved down the pier with an eye out for anything the patrol officers might have missed.  He trusted them, of course, but what might be commonplace to one man - especially one who didn’t spend so much time near the sea - might stick out to him.

Blood stained the metal railing where they surmised the body had been dumped.  There was an odd discoloration underneath the area that hadn’t been marked as evidence.  Killian didn’t know why it caught his eye, but he drew Robin’s attention to it, bending down to prod at it with a gloved hand after the camera stopped clicking.

The discoloration wasn’t dry, wasn’t old staining from a random fisherman’s tackle or catch.  Whatever had caused the mark was greasy on his gloves.  He rubbed it between his fingers for a moment, lost in thought as he stared out over the cresting waves.

“Hopper take the body?” Robin asked with a look on his face that told Killian he’d been lost in the sea for too long.

He nodded, pushing himself upright and biting back a grimace when both knees popped.  He was getting too old for this. 

“Aye, they were loading it up when I came up here.”  Killian shrugged.  “I don’t know how much else we’ll get down there before the tide rolls back in.  There’s men moving in now to pick up any evidence.  I thought you were still down there, to be honest, mate.”

Robin shook his head.  “Nottingham told me that you were going to clear that scene and that I should come up here.  Guess he must have seen you with Archie and assumed.”

That seemed odd to Killian, but he waved it off.  “We’re clear down there anyway; unless you want to get your boots wet,” he said as he gestured to the waves beneath them.  They could both hear the crash of water against the pilings.

“Did you get anything off the body before Hopper spirited him away?” Robin asked, moving further down the pier away from the dump site.

“Gaston LeGume,” Killian remarked, biting back a laugh when Robin whirled around.

“Gesundheit?” he asked incredulously.

Killian snorted this time, unable to tamp down the humor.  Thankfully, the only beings around to get upset were a flock of perturbed seagulls who took off with shrill cries of disgust.  “The man’s name was Gaston LeGume, according to his identification.  He’s got a Mass license, but was staying at a hotel.  Either he’s not a local or, if he is, he’s got an irate wife at home.”

 That got a pained smile out of Robin.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained.  Killian cocked an eyebrow but his partner didn’t take the invitation, turning instead towards the railing.  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Killian shook his head.  “Dunno yet.  A body dump, for sure, but beyond that…” he trailed off with a shrug.

Robin nodded his agreement.  “A pier this big, someone must have seen _something_.”

“Aye, you’d think someone would have noticed a car driving out here.  Who called it in?”  Killian looked back down the pier towards the increasing crowd that Graham was holding back.  He was pleased to see that one of the other officers was surreptitiously taking photos of the crowd.  More than once, Killian had found his murderer watching them work.

“One of the apparent regulars who fish here every morning.  Will took his statement before Anna and Kristoff took him to MGH to get checked out.  They guy looked like he was about to have a heart attack, I guess.  Will said that this…” - he trailed off, looking at his notes - “Marco Gepetto got here earlier than his buddies and was walking down to his spot when his tackle box busted open.  He kicked one of his Hogy lures over the side, I guess, and went down to see if he could find it.  That’s when he found our vic.”

“Gepetto all right, do we know?” Killian asked offhandedly, watching Nottingham shmooze with Humbert now.

“I don’t know yet.  It’s on my list.  Scarlet’s with him just in case.”

Killian nodded again, squatting down again to place another yellow marker in front of the railing where he’d found the grease.  He heard Robin snapping photos of the unknown substance and the area immediately surrounding it, but they both left it alone for the Forensic techs to sample.  It might be nothing, for all Killian knew it had been tracked down the pier days ago, but it could be everything as well.

Methodically, he and Robin cleared the rest of the scene before packing it in.  They’d found a handful of detritus, but nothing of real note.  With the body long gone, the tide rolled in, and the sun far higher in the sky than when they’d met there, Killian trudged back towards his car.  They were going to head back to the station to log their evidence before taking one car over to the hospital.

**LET THIS GO IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU.**

Killian blinked at the exquisite penmanship scrawled in ink across a torn off strip of what looked like the _Mother Goose & Grimm_ comic he’d read in the Globe on Sunday.  The note was stuck under his windshield wiper and flapping in the light breeze off the ocean.  One eyebrow rose as he looked around slowly, trying to gauge if anyone was watching him discover the veiled threat.

_Cowards_ , he thought derisively, slipping on another pair of gloves and plucking the shred of newspaper off the glass.  Killian flipped over the paper but there was nothing of note on the other side.  Shaking out an evidence bag, he slid the threat inside before sealing it and labeling it.  He slipped it into his pocket as he pulled out his keys and finally sat down in the car.

Killian’s head hit the headrest with an audible _thunk_ and he shut his eyes.  Evidence collection was far more exhausting than it had any right to be.  Without looking, he jammed the key into the ignition and started up the engine.  It clicked for a few seconds and a chill ran down his spine.  His hand snapped open on pure instinct and Killian scrambled out of the car.  He was probably being silly, but the morning’s murder along with the ominous note had left him more than a little keyed up.

He stood on the sidewalk, trembling a little as he huffed out a breath and mentally shook himself.  He was being ridiculous.

He thought.

In spite of himself, Killian popped the hood of the car and looked at the organized chaos beneath.  He laughed in relief when he noticed the loose wire coming off the battery.  _You’re being an idiot, Jones,_ he thought angrily as he remembered Liam harping at him about getting the car looked at before its next inspection.  It had been getting more and more finicky over the years, but he wouldn’t part with it for the world.  He and Liam had bought it after Killian graduated from the Academy.

“All right, mate?” Robin asked as he pulled up in the sleek SUV he’d purchased only a few months ago.

Killian sighed and slammed the hood.  Truth be told it was an easy enough fix, but it would take longer than he had the patience for at the moment.  Instead of rummaging through the trunk for his toolkit, Killian locked the doors and jogged around to the passenger side of Robin’s car.  “Nothing that can’t be fixed later,” he replied when he slammed the door shut.

Robin’s eyebrows rose, but he pulled away from the dead car and headed back towards the highway without comment.

Killian waited until they were cruising at speed before he called Liam.

“Are you all right?” was how his brother answered the phone.

Killian rolled his eyes.  “Good morning, brother.  It’s a beautiful day.  And how are you this fine morning?”

He could hear Liam’s growl through the line.  “Are you okay?” his brother asked again with punctuated words.

“Yes, Liam, I’m fine,” he allowed.  Killian remembered the phone call Liam must have gotten from David that day in the alley and understood the worry even if he didn’t fully appreciate it.  “My car broke down and I wasn’t sure if you-”

“Where are you?” Liam interrupted and Killian could hear the sound of keys jangling.

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose.  “With Robin on the way back to the station.  I didn’t know if you wanted to take a look at it before I called for a tow.”

He knew the answer before he heard the sound of keys clattering on the table.  Liam muttered that he’d see what he could do after lunch.  Killian’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food.  How long _had_ they been out at the crime scene?  

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Robin pulled to a stop in front of Subway.  Killian looked at him in askance, but Locksley just shrugged.  “Will said that Gepetto is still being evaluated, so I figure we have a couple minutes now or I can deal with your crankiness later when you haven’t had food in too long.”

Killian grumbled under his breath, but he didn’t disagree.  The box of protein bars in his bottom drawer only did so much and he wasn’t sure he wanted to look at the expiration date, anyway.  He had a distant memory of stealing that box out of Liam’s desk when his brother wasn’t looking.  Pushing that thought back into the tightly locked box of memories, he got out of the car and trailed after Robin into Subway.

* * *

“And then I said, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes’ but I didn’t think that he’d really go for it.”  Moe finally admitted.  “I just thought he was humoring my daughter - they dated for awhile.  I didn’t like it, but what can you do?”

It had been a long conversation already, so this bit of news had Emma perking up.  “What did he do for you?”

Moe looked around, fear written clearly across his face.  “N-nothing,” he stuttered and Emma saw the walls slam down on whatever progress she thought she’d made.

She ducked her head a bit, trying to catch Moe’s eye.  “If you’re worried that-”

“No!  No, no of course not.  Captain Gold was perfectly by the book and I was lucky enough to have him investigating my case,” he argued.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes only by pinching the bridge of her nose hard enough that she could feel her pulse beating against her fingers.  She wasn’t a doctor, but she was pretty sure that the staccato rhythm wasn’t exactly healthy.

“So this ‘whatever it takes’ that you agreed to?”  Emma barely managed to keep her hands in her lap, wanting to use sarcastic air quotes but knowing it would only make him backpedal even further into Gold’s pocket.

Moe just shrugged, eyes wild even though his face was otherwise calm.  “Patience and trusting that he’d take care of it,” was all he answered.   _This_ , at least, was pure truth.  Whatever deal that Moe and Gold had made, it had required trust.

Emma just needed to know what the terms of that deal actually were.  She wasn’t going to get that here, today, however.  _That_ was becoming increasingly obvious as he continued to assure her that Captain Gold had done everything to the letter of the law.  It was only pure happenstance, of course, that he had been cleared of any wrongdoing.

Continuing to beat this dead horse was only going to send her pulse further through the roof and give her a migraine.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. French.  I may have a few more questions for you later; I assume I can reach you if I need to?”

He nodded.  “Of course, I’m always happy to help.”

Emma had her own ideas of exactly what he could do with his help.  She thought Elsa would be proud of her for not spitting them at Moe before she rose and shook his hand.  Emma handed him a business card before showing herself out of the small house.  She managed to avoid sighing audibly until she got behind the wheel of the Bug, but only just.  

Emma wasn’t getting anywhere.  Every one of the cases she and Killian had flagged over the past few weeks as suspicious was a bust.  Either there was no one alive to question about Gold’s involvement in the case or they were on the wrong end of the law, willing to say anything and everything Emma wanted to hear if it got them a lighter sentence.  Or, as happened with French, the men and women Emma talked to were too afraid of what Gold would do to admit he’d done anything but read them the letter of the law.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma tried to remember that it was a marathon, not a sprint.  She and Killian _had_ found some evidence of Gold’s corruption; it just wasn’t enough.  Not yet.

Emma turned the key in the ignition, pleasantly surprised when there were no strange noises, flickering lights, or worse - the dreaded click and silence.  The engine turned over on command and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb.  Emma drove off, watching Moe in the rearview mirror staring at her tail lights until she turned the corner.  It was nearly four in the afternoon; Emma _could_ go back to the station and pull more files.  Or she could head towards the marina and get in a few more hours of work in blissful silence.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

Smee waved her in with a smile before she could even roll down the crank window.  Emma nodded with a smile that she hoped didn’t look as stressed as she felt and wound her way around to her parking space.

_Not_ your _parking space, Emma,_ she thought warily, _it’s just a_ visitor’s _parking space.  Don’t get comfortable here._

The fact of the matter was, to her chagrin, she _was_ getting comfortable using Jones’s boat as a home base.  So much so that she’d hardly thought about bringing her work home with her in weeks.  Killian was right; it made going back to her apartment that much sweeter when she didn’t take a mountain of case files filled with murder and deception home with her.

With a resigned sigh - she did hate when Jones was right - Emma trudged down the dock to the _Jolly Roger_ and below deck.  Post it notes and index cards were taped to nearly every surface, files and documents scattered haphazardly on the bed topped by a note that made her nose wrinkle in annoyance.

_Bloody hell, how do you find anything, lass?_

Emma grumbled under her breath about neat-freak tendencies and tossed the newest file on top of the lot.  It slid a bit further than she’d intended, sending both it and the folder beneath it fluttering to the floor.  Emma shot a piercing glare first at the note and then at the papers scattered about.  Somehow, she was sure, this was all Jones’s fault.

Emma stooped down and began stuffing the papers into their respective folders, not really paying attention to the subject matter.  She was already making a mental map of what files she wanted to look at next.  It wasn’t until she was nearly done that Emma noticed whose file it was.

MILAH GOLD

Emma’s fingers shook, rattling the pages, and she didn’t understand why.  She had long since memorized the information in the woman’s file and suspected that Killian had done the same.  The papers were wrinkled with use, some of them stained with coffee or other liquids that Emma didn’t examine too closely, and spelled out the story exactly as Jones had told it to her.

And yet, Emma abandoned her original plan for the evening in favor of pouring over the evidence and the testimonies again.

And again.

At some point she had moved from her hands and knees to sitting, propped against the bunk, as she poured over Milah’s file and then Killian’s employee file.  From all accounts, he’d been a star coming out of the Academy.  There wasn’t a single black mark on his record before Gold had found out about Milah’s indiscretion.

That was when the reprimands had started.  Those escalated into suspensions for insubordination and the like.  The deleted report for drunk and disorderly stood out like a sore thumb only in that it had been redacted from Killian’s file completely.  It had taken all of Emma’s skills to find it in the first place and Killian told her repeatedly that he wasn’t positive how it had been deleted, though the look in his eyes told her he thought that he knew but wasn’t saying.

She hadn’t met Liam Jones yet, but she had a feeling that he was a force to be reckoned with - if his younger brother’s loyalty to him was anything to go by.  She had his file here, too, buried in the middle of witness statements and the timeline of Gold’s arrests.  Emma hoped that Killian didn’t find it; she had no illusions as to how he’d take finding his brother’s file among the links to their investigation into Gold.

_Her_ investigation into Gold.  She had to remind herself that Killian was just a source more and more often these days.  He was _not_ her partner.  Emma Swan didn’t need a partner.  She didn’t want one.  Even if - were she to admit it to herself - the long hours of paperwork had gone much less tediously with someone around to share in the misery.

Jones was charming, maybe too much for his own good and certainly too much for hers.  Half the time she wanted to wring his neck and the other half… well, the other half was being silently but firmly beaten back into submission.  This was a job.  It was _only_ a job and once it was done, she’d be back to takeout in her apartment surrounded by her next case.

Maybe she should get a cat.

Emma sighed for the… she’d lost track of how many times, and kneaded the muscles at the back of her neck.  There was a headache brewing there, just waiting for the right time to blossom and put a stop to her productivity, limited as it was.  She dropped her head back onto the mattress behind her and closed her eyes.  The bobbing of the boat on the tide was soothing and Emma let herself go completely limp, relaxing into the soft motion.

She never even noticed when she started to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Killian rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he turned into the marina’s parking area.  He’d woken before sunrise, unable to sleep for risk of giving the nightmares more hold over his rest.  After an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up the fight and slipped out of the apartment.  The sun was just breaking the horizon when he pulled off Storrow Drive.  Fifteen minutes later and here he was, thankful for the absolute lack of traffic this early on a weekday morning.

“Jones!” Smee sounded surprised.  “I thought you were… well…”

Killian cocked his head in question, still waiting for the caffeine to kick in.  To his surprise, Smee’s ears went a little pink before he answered.

“I just figured that I missed you coming in last night.  I saw your girl’s car in the lot and just assumed that… well, you know.”  He shrugged with a leering smirk.

Killian blinked.  His girl?  Emma?  His eyes drifted across the lot towards visitor’s parking and, sure enough, there was the yellow Bug.  His head swiveled back to Smee and he was chagrined to see the man wink at him.

“Anything else I need to know about, Mr. Smee?” he asked impatiently.

Smee blinked, taken aback for a moment before he grinned.  “Ah, I see,” he said, touching his finger to the side of his nose.

_Just go with it,_ Killian thought in a moment of realization.  He smirked at Smee and winked back at him, both eyes closing despite his intentions.  “I’m sure I can count on your discretion in the matter, aye?” he asked with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Oh, yes sir.  You know you can count on me,” Smee crowed, stepping back from the car.

Killian nodded conspiratorially at him before settling back in his seat and pulling the car around to his own spot.  Thankfully, Liam had been able to fix the battery with only a modicum of fuss (and a lot more grousing when he got home) and the car was running smoothly again.

A few minutes later and he was stepping over the rail onto the _Jolly_ ’s deck.  Almost instantly, the rocking of the boat under his feet calmed his thoughts.  Milah had featured prominently in his nightmares, some twisted tale his subconscious had conjured up where he was a pirate captain and she was his lady.  Gold had been there, too, twisted and strange and… shiny?  Killian shook his head at the absurdity of it all.

The details hadn’t mattered anyway.  Milah had died in his arms, a morbidly better fate than the real story, and he still hadn’t told her he loved her before she took her last breath.  Even now, _her_ breathy “I love you” from the dream echoed in his ears.

God did he miss her.

Killian bit the inside of his lip before he headed below deck, trying to wrestle his emotions back into the box he kept them safe in.  They had no place here.

He eased open the hatch to the aft cabin, the light from inside spilling across his feet before he peeked in.

Emma was sound asleep on the floor, several open files scattered around her.

* * *

  ** _Look at the amazing art that[cocohook38](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr made for this [scene](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com/post/179290990521/clear-and-present-danger-ch4-by-icecubelotr44)!_**

* * *

A small smile broke out on Killian’s face before he could bite it back.  He didn’t understand the feeling in his chest and he didn’t want to look too closely at it.  Instead, he stood in the doorway awhile and watched her sleep, surprised to see how different she looked without the mask she so often wore at the precinct.  It was as if she were younger somehow, more serene.  Killian understood that: he'd donned his own armor since Milah's death and then Liam's forced retirement.  He didn't like realizing that Emma had done the same, however, and he wanted to know more about what had created her walls.  He wanted to know more about her beginnings.

_No, you bloody fool,_ he thought angrily.   _No, you bloody well_ don't _want to know a damned thing about her beginnings.  She's just a means to destroy Gold._

Whatever it was that compelled him, Killian knelt down silently and began to clean up the mess of files she had spread around her.  God, but she was a mess when she worked.  He didn't know how she did it, but every time he asked for a file, Emma knew right where it was.  It baffled him every time.

Once that was done, Killian reached for Milah's file, intent on combing through the information yet again.  He knew it all by rote by now, but he found comfort in the repetition.  It was almost as though Milah was still alive within the pages of her file, as if she wasn't truly gone as long as he was still fighting for her.

"What time's it?" Emma slurred some time later.  She'd pushed herself up so she was sitting back against the bunk with her eyes still closed.  Killian smiled at the grimace on her face as if she were dreading the answer.

"Still early, I expect," he muttered quietly from across the room.  "You've time if you want to sleep some more.  Although, I'd wager that the bed is far more comfortable than the floor."

Emma's eyes shot open and her head whipped around as she took in her surroundings.  "Wha?  Where?" she asked before her eyes settled on Killian.

"Expecting someone else, lass?" he asked jovially.

She blinked at him for a few minutes and Killian could see the plates of armor being woven around her once more.  "No, of course not," she answered shortly.

"Of course not," he parroted dryly, one eyebrow rising of its own volition.

Before Killian could say anything else, Emma launched herself to her feet, swaying a bit due to the moving deck beneath her feet, then looked around.  "Where are my files?" she asked in alarm.

Killian jutted his chin towards the bunk behind her.  "I didn't know where in this mess you call organization they belonged, so I just closed them and stacked them there," he replied defensively and very nearly crossed his arms petulantly.

Emma had the good graces to look sheepish as she turned and rifled through the different folders.  He thought he saw her breathe a sigh of relief and rolled his eyes.

"I've done this before, lass.  I _do_ know how to deal with a case file," he paused, looking around the cabin, "a sight better than you do, if this is any indication."

Emma turned around to glare at him.  "There's a _system_ ," she retorted with a bit of a sneer, hugging the files to her chest.  She looked less guarded now that she had the folders in her grasp.

Killian took a step back and bowed to her.  “Of course, princess.  I wouldn’t want to buck the system.”  He turned to go back above deck, leaving her to her _organization_ , when he tripped and knocked one of the stacks to the floor.  Emma’s snarl of exasperation went unheard when he caught sight of the name on one of the files.

L.JONES

He blinked, clenched his eyes shut a second time, and looked again.  His brother's name was still written in bold letters on the folder's tab.

Whirling around, Killian glared at Emma, ignoring the wide eyed look of alarm that crossed her features before it was tucked carefully behind her walls, replaced with cool confidence.  Her chin came up in defense and Killian had a feeling that if he were a suspect who'd pulled a weapon, she'd look much the same.

"What the bloody hell are you doing with a file on my brother?"

 


	5. Known Associates

_What the bloody hell are you doing with a file on my brother?_

Emma instinctively took a step back at the icy vehemence in Killian's tone.  The protective streak that likely made him good at his job was in full force when confronted with an apparent threat to his brother.  She hadn't seen this side of him before.  His temper was quick to flare and it was hot and ready to boil over.  He was practically vibrating with the need to shield Liam from her and Emma knew she needed to diffuse the situation before she lost his help.  

His trust.  

"It's not what you think," she said soothingly, telegraphing her intention to put the folders down on the mattress before she moved towards him.  "I have Liam's file for the same reason I have yours and your partners' files.  I just wanted to throw Gold off for as long as possible.  If he thinks I'm investigating _you_ , he's going to expect me to pull those."

Killian blinked and Emma could see him struggling to figure out if he could trust her.  She held his eye contact openly, hoping that he would see that she wasn’t trying to deceive him.  She wasn’t; she’d read through Liam Jones’s file on the off chance that she’d find something and nothing had popped out at her.  But, she could see as Killian clearly struggled to put a lid on his temper, that wouldn’t matter; not if he couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

“My brother’s off limits,” he growled a few seconds later.  “He’s been through enough.”

Emma nodded in agreement.  She’d read the incident report from the call that had claimed Liam’s career - and nearly his life.  There was something that didn’t sit right with her about it, but it wasn’t pertinent to the case and it was clearly a sore subject.  “What time is it?” she asked now that she was awake, reaching for anything to change the conversation.

Killian stared her down for a moment longer before he looked at his watch.  “Nearly seven.  There’s a small shower in the marina if you need to freshen up.  I don’t know that you’ll be able to make it across town and back with the morning traffic.”

Emma shook her head.  “I’m not going into the station today if I can help it.  I’m actually headed down the Pike to meet with a woman named Ashley Boyd.  There’s a footnote in one of Gold’s files about her, but she doesn’t show up in any witness list or statements.”

Killian squinted.  “Ashley…” he murmured, trailing off and turning to dig through Emma’s files.

Emma bit back the retort when he clearly understood her system well enough to find what he wanted.  When he shoved all of her files to the side, however, and dug into a cabinet she hadn’t noticed, she had to bite her tongue.  He was making a mess.

“Ashley Boyd?” he clarified, turning with a file she hadn’t seen before.  “Married to Sean Herman?”

Emma nodded, eyes wide.  “Where else did you find her name?”

“I remember Liam talking about the case.  The lad’s father hired Liam to look into Ashley, wanted any dirt that my brother could find on her.  All Liam could find was that she was poor, but she was working and taking night classes to make sure she’d have a stable home for her newborn.”  Killian paused, reading the file more in depth.  “There’s no note here about a criminal investigation, so I’m not sure how she shows up in your files, but Liam might know more.”

Emma shook her head.  “I don’t want to bother him yet.  It might not be related.”  She didn’t mention that she didn’t want more people than necessary knowing where her rabbit trails were leading.  

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her, and she grinned disarmingly.  It didn’t work.

“Your brother keeps his case files on your boat?” she asked instead, trying to distract him.

He shrugged with a wry look that screamed, _I know what you’re doing_ , but let it go.  “Where do you think I got the idea?” he asked instead.

Emma blinked.

Killian relented.  “He doesn’t keep the files where he actually finds anything here.  Those are turned over to his clients and the copies kept under lock and key in his office.  But some of the ones he wants to remember, the ones where something seemed off or he thought the information he found was important, he keeps a copy of those stashed here.”

“So he didn’t find anything on her?” Emma asked, looking for anything to use as leverage if this Ashley Boyd didn’t want to talk about Gold.  Whatever he’d done.

Killian glanced back down at the file.  “Sorry, lass.  Says here that Liam closed the case and turned over any evidence to Mitchell Herman.  There’s a note regarding the birth of her daughter Alexandra, and then a wedding date some six months after that, so whatever he found must not have been enough to stop Mr. Herman’s son from marrying her.”

Emma sighed.  “Guess that’s not really going to help me after all,” she admitted with a hint of defeat coloring her tone.

“Maybe not,” he agreed.  “But it might give you something to break the ice with.  Get her talking about her father-in-law and maybe she’ll let something slip about Gold once her defenses are down.”

“Maybe,” Emma scowled at him for a moment before she started stuffing some of the files in her backpack and headed for the door.  She wanted to ask him to come with her.  The long hours in the car with little to distract her was far less than appealing alone.  But she couldn’t ask him.  For so many reasons.

Emma was better off alone.

* * *

Killian watched Emma gather up her belongings and wondered where he had overstepped.  Before he could figure it out or work out if asking her would garner him an answer, she spoke again.

“I’ll be out in western Mass all day, Jones, so I’ll see you later,” Emma tossed out as she nearly sprinted to the door.  

Killian watched her go, shaking his head; he had no idea where he stood with that woman some days.  With a frustrated huff, he scrubbed his hand over his face before replacing Liam’s file and giving Swan’s chaotic “system” a once over.  He blinked several times, wanting nothing more than to stack and file everything in the cabin into some semblance of order.

Liam would approve.

Emma would kill him.

More afraid of Swan’s retribution than of his brother’s distaste should he see the mess, Killian turned away from the cabin after locking the door carefully.  So far, Liam had been spending most of his time up north at the cabin, which kept him far from the _Jolly_ and far from Emma’s hazardous filing tendencies.

Not to mention, far away from Killian’s obsession with her case.

Killian made his way above deck to the helm.  He ran his hand over the wheel reverently.  He didn’t have time to take her out, not with the distraction Emma had provided, but sometimes he just needed to imagine.  Imagine what it would be like to outfit her for a few months’ voyage and just _go_.  He and his brother could just sail where they pleased, answering to no one but themselves.  They could live off what they caught and what they bartered for, could take odd jobs when they needed the money and just bask in the freedom when they didn’t.  He was surprised to realize that today’s daydream included Emma spending her days on deck with them, learning the ropes and thriving in the carefree nature of sailing just for the sake of it.

It all sounded ideal; too bad neither of them would go for it.

Fair winds and following seas, wasn’t that how the saying went?  Killian shut his eyes and breathed in the smell of the ocean, felt the sway of the boat beneath his feet, let himself drift on thoughts of freedom.

And then someone blared a car horn and the illusion shattered.

Throwing his head back in frustration, Killian secured everything before heading back to his car.  Smee grinned lecherously at him, but was ignored.  Let the little man think what he wanted; if anyone from Gold’s crew asked him, they wouldn’t believe that the woman he was shacking up with was the same detective investigating them.

He hoped.

The traffic that had been blissfully absent when he’d driven to the marina was now in full gridlock.  Killian shot off a text to Robin letting him know that he’d be late, ignoring the irony of a police officer breaking the law on one of the very roads he’d once patrolled.  The car rumbled angrily at him as he finally was able to hit the gas and change lanes.  Killian moved a grand total of five car lengths before slowing to a stop again and he started to wonder if he’d ever get to the station.  The traffic report was supremely unhelpful - everything was backed up everywhere, it seemed - and Killian shut it off before he started arguing with the voice over the airwaves.

Biting back the urge to lay on his horn or gesture rudely to the soccer mom who had just cut him off with her minivan while flipping him off herself, Killian let his mind wander back to LeGume’s murder.  Nothing was sitting right with him about the scene.  He supposed that the miscommunication between himself and Robin had unsettled him; they were usually much more in sync than that.

LeGume, it turned out, was teaching a seminar on the lesser nobility of England at Emerson College.  He had come to Boston nearly a year before, and didn’t seem to have any enemies.  He had been staying at the Doubletree hotel due to his apartment building undergoing an emergency fumigation.  Neighbors reported that he was pompous and unfriendly, but that there was a girlfriend who he had been seeing for the better part of his time there.  No one knew who she was, but several witnesses had mentioned her having an accent, though it was different than LeGume’s.

Killian and Robin had yet to track the elusive woman down.  No one LeGume had associated with at the college had believed he’d been seeing anyone and he’d been alone in any video surveillance that they had compiled to track the man’s movements.

The greasy substance that Killian had found on the scene was backlogged at the lab and no amount of charm on his part had moved it up the queue.  He had a feeling that it was important, though he couldn’t say why.  Even he couldn’t perform magic, though.  He’d have to wait for the spectrometer results like everyone else.

Growling audibly at the minivan in front of him, Killian inched forward and wished he was in a patrol car.  He’d get in trouble for using the lights, but at least he’d be _moving_.

What felt like hours later, Killian finally threw himself into his chair with a huff and resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands.  It was his own bloody fault that he was late, but that didn’t make the smug grins on David’s and Robin’s faces any easier to bear.

“Don’t you two have work to do?” Killian grumbled, making a show of unlocking his desk and pulling out a case file.

“Nope,” David retorted with a sarcastic grin.

Killian rolled his eyes.

“Actually, sir,” Henry piped up, “we do need to write up the evidence report from the scene yesterday.”

Killian grinned as David groaned; sometimes the kid being so earnest came in handy.  “Better get to it then, Nolan.  Don’t want to teach the kid bad habits, do we?”

David shot him a glare, but there wasn’t really any heat behind it.  “Of course we don’t.  Come on, Mills.  Let’s let these two shining examples of  police efficiency get to their own paperwork.”

Killian waited until they were both hunched over their keyboards to ask, “What scene?”

“If you had been on time this morning, Jones, you’d have already heard the details,” Robin put in helpfully.

Killian was going to douse Robin’s next coffee with salt.

David and Henry, they finally told him after some more ribbing, had been called to Auntie’s Chicken & Waffles Diner when the morning cook had unlocked the restaurant to find its owner dead on the floor.  They were waiting on the ME’s report, but early evidence had pointed to the old woman being poisoned.  David was letting Henry take the lead on the case, and the rookie was clearly trying to do everything by the book.

He’d learn how to modify the guidelines eventually.

Killian turned his attention towards his own case, rereading what they had managed to compile on LeGume again.  He tried to look at the evidence with fresh eyes, not letting his past intuition lead him down the same path.  If he could figure out a new way to look at the murder, maybe something different would pop up.

Four hours later found him slumped over a box in the evidence locker, trying to ignore the dust that had built up in the storage area while he combed through the detritus that had washed up on shore with the body.  Other than disgust at what the general populace found fit to toss into the ocean, Killian hadn’t found anything new.

“Come on, mate,” Robin spoke quietly, but it still startled him.  “Let’s take a drive and get some lunch.  We can head out down to Boylston Street and find something to eat there before canvassing some of the student buildings at Emerson.  Maybe someone will know who the mysterious girlfriend is.”

Killian was surprised to realize it was past one in the afternoon.  He stood with a nod and stretched, the loud popping that traveled down his back making both of them wince.

“Sounds like you’re getting too old for this,” Robin quipped with a grin.

Killian didn’t disagree.  “Guess I need to find me a rookie to do the grunt work under the guise of ‘teaching him’.”

Robin laughed, but crouched down to lift LeGume’s box back onto its shelf.  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Jones,” he quipped.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate,” Killian answered back with a trifle more sincerity than he’d intended.  Robin had been there through it all.  They’d met at the Academy as roommates and then had been assigned to separate training officers before ultimately being paired up on patrol.  Robin had dealt with him in the aftermath of Milah’s death, had stood strong by him when Killian nearly fell apart then and again with Liam’s injury and forced retirement.  He’d accepted the transfer promotion for what it was, grateful for the increase in pay it brought.  He didn’t complain too much (to Killian anyway) about the feud with Gold and the number of times he’d been benched while Killian served another suspension.

Killian didn’t know where he’d be if not for Robin.

The smell of city air filled Killian’s nostrils and he relished it after the hours in the musty locker.  He longed for the sea more than ever, but would take what he could get.  Maybe a weekend up at the cabin wasn’t a bad idea.  He could help Liam with some of the chores they’d been neglecting and just forget about everything that wasn’t splitting wood or reading by candlelight for a little bit.

Until then, he’d have to survive on bad Chinese food and canvassing the buildings that housed the Emerson classes.  Gaston had been a visiting professor from la Sorbonne, so the route between his classes crisscrossed the Theatre District.  Killian and Robin dodged college students and tourists alike on the Common and the sidewalks, glared at commuters who thought that traffic laws were more like guidelines than true rules of the road, and generally spent more of the afternoon on foot than doing interviews.

“Oh sure, you’re talking about Belle,” Professor Lumiere said offhandedly, what felt like days later rather than hours.  “Never really saw what she liked in him, but to each their own, I suppose.”

“Belle?” Robin questioned, a hint of hope in his voice.  “Do you know her last name?”

Lumiere shook his head, but then snapped his fingers.  “No, but she does volunteer at the library.  The West End branch, if I’m not mistaken.  I’m sure someone there knows her.”

The Boston Public Library was a network of libraries, so having one to start with was at least a little more needle in a haystack than piece of hay in a haystack.  And at least now they had a name to go by.

The woman in charge of the West End branch, however, was less than helpful.  “I can’t tell you everyone who volunteers here.  I have books to categorize and maintain!   Each one is precious and shouldn’t be _mishandled_!”  For all that she sounded affronted, Killian looked around to make sure Robin hadn’t suddenly had a fit of insanity and started tearing pages out of her precious books.

“Belle,” he tried again.  “Surely there aren’t too many volunteers here with that name?”

The librarian’s eyes instantly softened.  “Oh, Belle, of course.  She’s a sweet mouse of a thing, had her fair share of heartbreak, too.  One bad relationship after another.  I told her that she should concentrate on finishing her degree and not those men, but you know young people these days.”

Killian blinked.  “Do you, by chance, know her last name?”

“Belle French,” she said matter-of-factly.  “She’s been auditing a class over at Emerson; that’s how she met the last one.  I told her he was a better fit than that slimy coward of a man that she’s been on and off with, but I should probably mind my own business.”

Killian wrote down the information and mused that whoever this mysterious boyfriend was, he sounded like he’d been cut from the same cloth as Gold.  He quickly thanked the woman for her time but she’d already turned back to an unruly stack of books with a glare on her face as though she thought she could scare them into order.

Killian was almost positive that she could.

“Did you survive?” Robin asked cautiously when Killian walked over a minute later.  There was a stack of Easy Reader books that he was leafing through.

Killian laughed under his breath.  “Just barely.  If your library card isn’t in pristine condition, mate, I’d suggest checking out with another librarian.”

Robin laughed but eyed the woman warily.  “With how fast Roland’s going through these, I should probably just start buying them so he can reread them.  I’m a little too scared _not_ to check them out now, though.  We don’t have time to go put them all back in exactly the right order.”

“My Dewey decimal system _is_ a little rough,” Killian agreed, hefting the stack of books into his hands and walking them warily back towards the librarian.

Several disapproving glares and annoyed slams of the stamp later, Robin had a new set of books for Roland to devour and they were well on their way back to the car.  On the way, Killian called Will Scarlet, asking him to run a background check on Belle French.  The woman in question had an apartment up in Cambridge but had no priors except for several parking tickets which had all been paid on time.

Killian wanted to drive up there and interview her now, but Robin made him see sense.  Getting to Cambridge during rush hour would make his morning drive seem like a sunset cruise around the harbor.  LeGume would still be dead in the morning and a few hours’ difference weren’t going to magically blow open their case.

Still a little bit annoyed that they couldn’t just keep going, Killian followed Robin anyway.  They turned back towards the station; Killian was thankful that at least Gold seemed to be out and unable to find a way to torment him further.  After the running around and the old woman’s ire and the lead left untouched, Killian was frustrated.  All he wanted was to get back to his desk and clock out for the night.  He just wanted a few hours on the boat; he didn’t even need to take her out.  And if Swan was there, so much the better.  They’d left on uncertain terms in the morning and Killian found that he needed at least one thing to turn out well about the day.  If he could just patch things up with her, then maybe the day hadn’t been a total waste.

* * *

“I hope to God you had a more productive day than I did, Jones,” Emma called out when she heard footsteps above her head.  Ashley Boyd had been angry at Gold, but she insisted - like everyone else - that he hadn’t done anything illegal.  Emma had seen something in her eyes though, something that made her put the interview notes with the others that she wanted to come back to with fresh eyes.

Killian stomped down into the room, glared balefully at the disorder, and then made the whole mess worse by flopping back on the small bunk with an affronted huff.  His head thunked hard against the bulkhead, but he didn’t even wince.

“That good, hmm?” Emma asked, fighting back the urge to ask if he was all right.  There was a tense set to his muscles even as he relaxed as the minutes ticked by.

“Sometimes I hate the city,” he mumbled, his eyes closing as he spoke.

“Really?” she asked, a bit incredulous.  “I’ve always loved it here.”

Killian’s head rose a few inches as he looked at her.  “How long _have_ you been here, Swan?”

“Feels like forever,” she shrugged.  “Bounced around from foster home to foster home, sometimes outside the city, but never far.”

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally.

It was enough to break Emma out of the reverie that threatened to pull her back down memory lane.  Long enough for her to realize what she’d admitted.  She couldn’t think of the last person she’d told about how she grew up.

Maybe Ruby?  Certainly not Elsa.

But Killian had barely even reacted to the information.   _Huh._

“You don’t have much of an accent for having grown up here,” Killian mused instead of focusing on what Emma expected.  “I’d have expected more-”

“I swear to God, Jones, if you even _think_ the phrase, ‘pahk the cah in Hahverd Yahd’,” she grumbled, purposely  obliterating  every ‘r’ she could manage, “I will make you walk the plank.”

He grinned, dropping his head back against the bulkhead again.  

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he quipped, but then sobered.  “I thought I recognized that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” Emma glanced up in spite of herself, watching him stare at the ceiling above them.

“The one all orphans carry,” Killian whispered, finally picking up his head and looking directly at her.  Emma found herself caught in his gaze.  “The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

She nodded in spite of herself, seeing the look she saw every day in the mirror reflected back at her in his eyes.  She wasn’t, it seemed, the only orphan in the cabin.  “What about you?  Your accent-”

Killian sat up swiftly, but didn’t stand.  He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor for long enough that she wondered if she’d overstepped somehow.  Fair was fair, after all, or so she thought.  But maybe his past wasn’t-

“Our father brought us here after our mother passed.  He took off a few years later, let us get lost in the system until Liam aged out and won custody over me.  I don’t even remember England, but I guess I picked up on my brother’s accent.  I was lucky.  At least I almost always had Liam.  I knew I was never really alone,” he mumbled some time later.

Emma shuddered, too many memories of nights spent awake, thinking she was just a lost girl who had never mattered and never would.  What she would have given to have a sibling she could count on, who she could lean on when the system tried to break her.

“We got out,” she whispered, the reminder settling her tumultuous thoughts.

Killian nodded.  “Aye, lass, we did at that.”

They both lapsed into comfortable silence, the muted sound of the ocean filling the room as the boat bobbed idly against the dock.  Emma started to wonder if Killian had fallen asleep sitting up when he finally spoke again.

“Did you have any plans tonight?  Other than torturing yourself with this unholy mess?” he asked suddenly, gesturing to the chaos around them.

She looked around.  After the drive cross-state and back and the fruitlessness of the trip, she didn’t really want to read through everything again.  “Nothing except maybe a bottle of red and trying not to judge my own Netflix choices.  Why?”

Killian stood gracefully, a move Emma wasn’t quite sure she could mimic with the shifting tide moving the boat haphazardly.  “Let’s sail away.”

“Let’s what now?” Emma asked from where she sat hunched over a file.

Killian held out a hand to her.  “Just for a couple hours before it’s truly dark.  We won’t even leave the harbor.  Sometimes it’s enough to quiet the demons in my head.  Perhaps it can do the same for you?”

She heard the unspoken question, knew he was asking her to trust him.  Did she?  Trust him?  With the case, sure.  With his intentions for Gold, absolutely.  But with her?

“Why not?” she agreed, hoping he understood what she was saying.   _I trust_ you _, Jones._

Killian grinned when she placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her upright.  The boat swayed under her feet, but she managed to keep her balance.  The two of them stood there for a minute, caught up in their own thoughts.  For that moment, nothing existed outside of that cabin.  There were no sordid pasts, no unsolvable cases, no lost loves or past mistakes.  There was nothing except him and her and the calm of the ocean.

So, naturally, Emma’s phone exploded with several text messages.  She grimaced as she tried to pull it out of her pocket, gripping Killian’s hand tightly when he tried to let go.  “It’s just my friend Ruby wanting to know if I’m up for drinks.”

Killian nodded, a tinge of sadness coloring his features.  “I’ll just leave you to it then, aye?” he asked.

“No!” Emma shouted, a little more loudly than she’d intended.  She didn’t want him to think… “No, I’ll just tell her we’ll go out next week.”

A look of wonder crossed Killian’s face then, as if he’d expected her to leave him.  She realized that had their roles been reversed, she’d have thought the same thing of him.  Maybe they did know each other a little better than she thought.

Everyone always left her, too.  

Emma kept Killian’s hand in hers as she typed out a quick reply before silencing her phone.  She knew that Ruby was going to have a field day with this and she’d pay the price for ignoring the stream of texts that must be coming through, but it would be worth it.

“Lead the way, Jones,” she said instead, smiling and squeezing his fingers in her own.

Killian saluted her jauntily before turning and pulling her up on deck.  For all her time on the _Jolly Roger_ , Emma hadn’t spent much time up here.  She had always been far too concerned with getting back to her notes, the files, another lead to chase like a cat after a mouse.  It all looked so intricate, Emma didn’t even know where Jones would start.

“Do you…” she paused, looking around a bit helplessly.  “Do you need any help?”

Killian shook his head.  “Not yet.  Getting her out into open water is a little tricky if you don’t know what you’re doing.  Once we’re out of the channel, though, I could… I could teach you a little bit about sailing.  If you’d like, that is.”  His hand reached up and scratched behind his ear.  He still sounded uncertain.

“I’d like that,” Emma assured him with a smile.

He beamed at her.  “Excellent.  We won’t have long out here tonight before it gets too dark, but if you enjoy it, we could always come out on a Saturday, really get around the harbor.  There’s a number of little islands out here to explore.”

“Your own little bit of Neverland,” Emma mused.

“Aye,” Killian replied, looking a little bit gobsmacked.  “Would you like to see it with me sometime?”

Emma nodded.

“Well, all right then,” he said, pointing to one of the seats near the bow.  “If you sit there, you’ll get a little damp, but the ride is worth it.  Or you could sit here by the helm if you’d rather.”

Emma sat where Jones had first indicated, breathing in the ocean air and finding how quickly it relaxed her.  She let her thoughts drift as the point of the boat… _the bow_ , she corrected herself, cut through the water with ease.  Small ripples splashed up on the hull as she watched, her own face staring back at her, muddled and choppy in the reflection from the setting sun.

Emma could understand what Jones saw out here.  Something about the vastness of the ocean stretching before them and the hidden mysteries in its depths made her realize that her own issues weren’t quite as mountainous as they seemed.  Even the struggle that she was having with the case didn’t seem so insurmountable out here.  Every lead she followed, every file she read was just another drop of water that was going to drown Gold in his own corruption.

It didn’t take long to lose herself in the hypnotic movements of the waves against the hull.  She didn’t notice that they’d left the channel until Killian called out to her from the helm.

“Did you fall asleep up there?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice.

Emma shook her head, sitting up slowly and spinning around until she was curled up below the railing, her back resting against the fiberglass.  “Not quite,” she admitted.

Killian smiled back at her and Emma found herself thinking that he looked younger out here, more carefree.  More rakish rogue than overworked detective.  More man than grieving widower.  She understood that he and Milah hadn’t been married in the legal sense, but it only took one look at him to realize that _that_ didn’t matter one whit.

“Come on up here, lass, and I’ll show you how to take her about.”

Emma grinned, pushing herself to her feet and making her way around the deck with wary care.  She was comfortable below deck and when the boat was docked, but here on the open ocean, Emma couldn’t quite erase the image of toppling overboard and being sucked down to Davy Jones’s locker by a monstrous creature.

“You aren’t, by chance, related to Davy Jones, are you?” she asked facetiously.

Killian smirked.  “Of the mythological or the Monkees’ fame?” he shot back.

“The former,” she replied without missing a beat, looking out towards the horizon.

“There aren’t any krakens in these here waters, lass,” Killian answered, deepening his accent on purpose, Emma was sure.

She scowled at him, but tried to look more confident as she reached his side.  “I could just arrest you for piracy, if you’re going to be smug,” she threatened, holding tightly to the railing.

Killian laughed heartily.  “First of all, you’re the one who threatened to make me walk the plank earlier, Swan.  I think you’ve got a little pirate in _you_ , lass.  Now come on over here.  I’ll make sure you don’t fall in.”

Emma smirked at him sarcastically, but let go of the railing to join him behind the wheel.

“There you go, lass.  Your sea legs aren’t bad for a landlubber,” Killian said with a smile once she was at his side.

She didn’t know why, but the praise made her bashful.  “Yeah, but I still get queasy,” she deflected.

“Oh, it’ll pass,” he dismissed.  “Just think of yourself as an extension of the ship.”

Emma watched for a moment as Killian sailed with the wind, adjusting the ship’s wheel at a whim from what Emma could tell.

“Come on, lass, care to try a hand at the helm?” Killian asked as he stepped back from the wheel, gesturing for her to stand there instead.

Emma shook her head, eyes widening as she took a step back.  “I know nothing of sailing,” she explained at his look of askance.

“Oh, once you get your bearings, it’s as easy as pie.”  Killian pulled her in front of the wheel before standing behind her.  

He was close.   _Too close_ , she thought.

Killian didn’t seem to notice how she tensed at his proximity.  “Now, the left side is called ‘port’ and the right side is called ‘starboard’.”  Emma watched him indicate either side of the boat before he pointed down to where ‘P’ and ‘S’ were written in Sharpie on the console in front of the wheel.

“Now, go two notches to port,” he instructed.  

Emma looked at him warily for a moment before turning the wheel.  The boat responded instantly, the sails filling with the wind and making them pick up speed.

“Well done, Swan,” he praised.  “Looks like you were born with the sea in your blood.”

Emma quirked half a smile, unused to the praise.  She swung the boat back around by spinning the wheel to starboard, still somewhat surprised when it did what she wanted.  The wind died out, leaving the sails empty and the boat slowing to drift on the waves again.

“Did your brother write that and then teach you how to sail?” she asked sometime later, nodding towards the letters inked onto the console.  Emma watched as Killian reverently traced the letters with a sad smile.

“No,” he finally revealed before looking up at her.  “Well, yes.”

Emma shook her head in askance.

Killian sighed, tracing the letters again.  “Yes, Liam taught me to sail when I was a lad.  Though it wasn’t on this boat, wasn’t here.  We couldn’t have afforded anything like this growing up.  But this one family we stayed with, they both worked and believed that we kids should get to know the outdoors.  So they sent us to camp in the summer.  I’d never even seen a boat in person before, but Liam…” he trailed off.

Emma stood at the wheel for so long that she thought she might have to sail home herself.  “But Liam?” she finally prodded.

Killian turned a brilliant smile on her.  “Liam loves sailing, he has for as long as I can remember.  He used to make sure that we got the same block for boating so that he could show me.”

Emma didn’t understand the melancholy that had stolen him from her.  She had her own secrets though, and she knew better than to push.  He could tell her in his own time.

_Or not at all, Emma_ , she thought angrily.   _He isn’t…_ what?  What was he?  A partner, sure, she could admit that reluctantly if she had to.  But they weren’t the type of friends who would… _Friends?_  Yeah, she supposed they were at that.

“I tried to teach Milah to sail,” he breathed out, staring at the horizon as if he could find her out there somewhere.  

It was like a bucket of seawater had been dumped on her head.   _Of course_ , she thought.   _Milah_.  “Tried?” she found herself asking in spite of herself.

Killian smirked kindly.  She could see the love pouring out of him.  “Aye.  Milah loved to sail, but she could never keep her directions straight.  I tried everything to help her remember, but it was useless.  Knocked me clean over the side once when she tacked to port and called out ‘starboard’.  Finally just wrote it down where she could see it.  Liam almost had my head.”

Emma smiled, but it was a bit forced.  She didn’t know what had gotten into her.  She felt… jealous?  She tried to tell herself it was because of how he’d spoken of his brother while they were in the system.  Tried to pretend that she didn’t envy a dead woman.  But the fact of the matter was that she hadn’t been in a relationship since _him_ and didn’t know what it was like to have someone love her as much as Killian obviously still loved Milah.

“Enough of the past, lass,” Killian brought her out of her musings.  “The sun will be nearly gone by the time we get back if we leave now.  I’d assume you’d rather not anchor out here tonight.”

She shook her head.  If he’d asked her an hour ago, she might have had a different answer.  It would have seemed like a far better option than going back to her lonely apartment for yet another night of wine and regrets.  But now… now she couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ compete with the memories of Milah in order to find her own peace.

Better to go home and remember who she was - still that lost little girl who didn’t matter and was coming to terms with that.

 


	6. Obstruction of Justice

Killian sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning alone. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before - after he'd docked the _Jolly_ , Emma had bolted for her car so fast he couldn't even wish her a good night. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He'd thought… well, he'd thought that maybe they were making progress. That maybe she was starting to trust him.

This morning was starting out spectacularly. Liam had left again, before the sun rose and before even Killian was out of bed - a note on the fridge just said "Cabin, Call You" - and had apparently taken the last of the coffee with him. The line at Dunkin Donuts had been ridiculous, some woman and her fourteen kids (he might have been exaggerating) had all ordered a full breakfast and, he'd swear, lunch as well.

Then, he'd gotten to work only to find that _somehow_ , the greasy substance he was waiting for results on had been mishandled and destroyed. No one in the lab could explain how it had happened, but the evidence had been lost and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now they were stuck in traffic. Not the normal, pull your hair out because no one knew how to drive between the hours of seven and nine am kind of traffic. No, it was the slow, torturous crawl of bottlenecked accident traffic. According to the scanner, some idiot had stopped short in front of a tractor trailer, possibly for a small animal, and two lanes had been shut down completely as a result.

While he was glad he wasn't on _that_ particular detail, Killian just wanted to get to Cambridge. He had a feeling that whatever Belle French could tell them, it would be worth the trip. If anyone knew LeGume and what he was into that got him killed, it would be the secret girlfriend.

"Bloody hell," Robin muttered under his breath as the car next to them merged and cut them off. His fingers clenched spasmodically around the wheel as if he were going to strangle it. "Don't they see we're in a _police car_?"

Killian huffed out an annoyed laugh in sympathy "It's unmarked, remember. And I don't think it's the steering wheel's fault, mate."

Robin cut his glare over to Killian and narrowed his eyes further. Killian resisted the urge to grab the wheel himself, knowing Locksley was capable of driving distracted but not wanting to make the evening news anyway.

_Local homicide officers exacerbate accident. Story at eleven_.

Finally, Robin gave up trying to wring the frustration out of the wheel and sat back with a resigned sigh. They weren't getting anywhere fast. "Did I tell you that Roland got a gold star for sharing yesterday?"

Killian grinned. "And you and Regina were worried that being an only child would stunt his growth," he teased jovially.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Says the man with a brother."

"You can borrow him any time you'd like," Killian said as seriously as he was able.

Robin cut a glance at him, clearly in disbelief.

"Oh, thank God," Killian muttered under his breath when they finally made it past the orange cones and could pick up speed again. Robin agreed by stepping harder on the accelerator and blowing by the soccer mom who had cut them off.

"So what did Roland share that earned him a gold star and, I'm sure, an ice cream cone?" Killian smirked as Robin grinned proudly.

"He shared his new markers with a girl at his art table. Let her use his _green_ one, even."

Green was quite plainly Roland's favorite color. Killian knew this as well as he knew that his eyes were blue and Liam was his older brother. It was just the way it was.

Robin continued to fill Killian in on Roland's progress in kindergarten as they wound their way north to Cambridge. They finally turned down Ms. French's street and, surprisingly for the way the morning had gone, found a parking spot not too far away.

"Detectives?" Ms. French met them at the door, one hand holding it open while the other flipped up to check her watch. They were much later than Robin had told her they'd be there.

"Yes, ma'am," Robin acknowledged, showing her his badge and introducing both of them. "May we come in?"

She nodded, stepping back into the entryway to allow them access. "You said this is about Gaston? I haven't spoken with him in… well, nearly a week now."

Killian ignored the clenching in his heart that came every time he had to notify kin. "We're very sorry to tell you, ma'am, but Mr. LeGume was found dead earlier this week."

She blanched immediately, and the less cynical side of Killian whispered that there was no faking that. Whatever else she did or didn't tell them, Belle hadn't known that her lover was dead.

Robin took her arm gently when she swayed, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. He helped her towards the couch in the front room, lowering her gently to sit as Killian moved into the kitchen where he found a still-steaming cup of tea. He filled a glass with water from the tap anyway and brought both back to her.

"Ma'am," Killian called gently when he crouched down next to Robin. She looked up to smile blankly at him, and the empty look in her eyes was so familiar that he nearly had to turn away.

"Call me Belle, please," she allowed, taking the cup of tea from him and cradling it in her hands. "I'm not that old yet."

Killian nodded, placing the glass on a coaster made to look like an old first-edition book cover. _Treasure Island_ , he read. The whole room was filled with books - some in floor to ceiling shelves and some scattered on the coffee and side tables. It was a miniature library and Killian got the feeling that it wasn't just for show. For one thing, the books were well cared for - but also well worn. There was no dust on the bookcases; she clearly took pride in each one.

"I don't know what I can tell you," she admitted. "Gaston and I… we talked about books. We went out up on the North Shore where we wouldn't be recognized. We didn't… he didn't talk about anything else."

Killian got the feeling that LeGume didn't do much talking at all, if the way Belle's cheeks grew red as she turned introspective were any indication. He remembered those early days with Milah. "You didn't want to be recognized? Or he didn't?" he tried.

Belle grimaced. "It was more of a mutual agreement. It wouldn't be good for him to be seen with a student, even if I weren't being graded by him. And I-" she cut herself off with a shake of her head and covered by taking a gulp of tea. It was clearly still too hot, and she nearly choked. Her eyes started to water and once that dam was broken, it was as if she'd given herself permission to grieve. Tears came fast and hard, though she was surprisingly silent.

Killian looked guiltily away, unable to handle the young woman's grief. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been the same way: trying to put on a front when all he wanted to do was collapse into himself and break.

He might have done so irreparably if Liam and Robin and the Nolans hadn't held him together with superglue, duct tape, and chocolate chip cookies. Mary Margaret's cookies were to die for.

Some days, he still felt like he might just shatter, and even the world's fastest jigsaw-er wouldn't be able to fit all the pieces into the puzzle.

"I'm sorry," Belle managed a few moments later, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she'd produced out of thin air, it seemed. "I know that you're busy trying to find out what happened, but I just-"

"No need to apologize, ma'am," Robin soothed, reaching out to take the mug away when her fingers slackened around it. "I know this must come as a bit of a shock."

Belle laughed daintily, but it rang hollow and the smile that crossed her face was pained at best. "A bit," she parroted wryly and Robin had the good grace to look chagrined.

"An unfortunate turn of phrase," he apologized.

Belle nodded her acceptance of this, but remained otherwise silent. Killian took the opportunity to sidle out of the room and look around the main floor. There were more books scattered haphazardly about - all well-loved and clearly taken care of, but within reach instead of on display. It looked like Belle would wander her home reading and leave the book wherever she was when she finished.

For all of the books that she owned, Belle had very few photographs adorning her walls. There were a few of her in various locations across the world, but she was alone in each shot.

"I've always loved traveling," she said quietly from behind Killian, but it still made him jump.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, placing down the copy of _Oliver Twist_ that he'd picked up somewhere in his search. "I just-"

Belle smiled. "You were doing your job, Detective. I don't blame you for that. Do you read much?" she asked, nodding her head towards the book in front of him.

"My brother used to read this to me when we were kids," Killian allowed. "I'm afraid I don't read as much as I'd like to, anymore, though."

"None of us do."

Killian couldn't argue with that. He smiled politely and followed Belle back to where Robin was still looking contrite. They spoke for a while longer, but it was clear that the young woman's mind wasn't focused on the conversation any longer.

"If you think of anything else, Ms. French, here's my card. Please call," Killian finally allowed her an out which she took with alacrity. She snatched the card from him before looking sheepish, but ushered them towards the door anyway.

Killian would never figure out why they hadn't seen the photo on the way into the apartment. It wasn't like it was hidden, or something they wouldn't have noticed.

It was a picture of Belle, in front of Quincy Market, with Gold's arms wrapped around her from behind. They were both smiling into the camera, taken from such a low angle that it could only have been shot by a child.

"You know Captain Gold?" Killian asked before he could think better of it.

Robin's head whipped around and followed Killian's gaze to the photo.

"You mean Robert?" Belle asked offhandedly, something almost chilling in her tone.

Killian nodded slowly, the disharmony ringing in his ears over seeing his tormentor looking so happy with his arms around a woman who wasn't Milah. He looked so happy; they _both_ looked so goddamned happy while Milah had been so miserable. Killian didn't understand. "When" - he cleared his throat - "when was this taken?"

"Oh, about three years ago."

Gold had still been married to Milah.

Killian was going to tear him apart. There wasn't a dark enough hellhole to drop him in. There weren't enough Hellhounds in the underworld to torment him. There wasn't-

Robin said something that Killian didn't catch, but it was enough distraction for him to mutter a strangled, "Thank you for your help," before nearly sprinting out the door.

The bright light of the sun assaulted him, making him blink rapidly to keep the tears out of his eyes. From the sun. Of course. Not because the bastard had been cheating on Milah for who knew how long and had spent all of that time castigating her for finding happiness with _him_.

"You all right, mate?" Robin asked a few minutes later, coming up to stand next to Killian so that they were shoulder to shoulder looking down the street. Killian wasn't seeing any of it.

The first time Milah had come to him, tears in her eyes and a stubborn look on her face, she hadn't told him what Gold had said to her. She'd muttered that she didn't want to talk about it, that it didn't matter; _they_ were all that mattered to her and she'd go to Hell and back before she'd allow her husband to ruin the freedom she found with Killian. For his part, Killian had held her close and promised her the world - he'd have moved mountains or fled to the most remote corner of the world he could find if only she'd ask.

He thought she'd have done it, too, if it wasn't for her son. Killian had met the boy a few times, heard plenty of stories about "Bae"and his adventures in the Neverlands and Enchanted Forests in their backyard. But if there was one thing he knew as well as the fact that Milah loved him, it was that Robert Gold loved his son to an unhealthy degree. They'd never wrest the boy from his father's grasp and Milah would never truly leave him behind.

So Killian had settled. He'd accepted his relationship with her for what it was, loved her for the love she had for her son, and made do with the time that was given to him.

"Aye," he finally lied to Robin, squaring his shoulders and opening the car door. "Let's just get back to the station before we hit any more bloody traffic."

* * *

Emma couldn't believe it. She was looking at the results herself and she couldn't believe it. She'd found the note buried in one of Jones's files on the boat weeks ago and had tucked it in her pocket to ask him about later. He'd been dismissive, but the threat had stuck with her: **LET THIS GO IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU.** On a whim, she'd had it dusted for prints at an independent lab. Now, she finally had the results and she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Detective Nottingham.

She didn't know the man well, just well enough to dislike him, but he didn't seem the type to stick his neck where it didn't belong. Still, a threat to a police officer wasn't something to be taken lightly and when Emma had questioned him, he'd been straightforward and succinct.

"Yeah, I put it on Jones's car. Bugger doesn't deserve the shield he carries." Nottingham had shrugged then and leaned back in his chair, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Yanked the battery wire, too. Thought about… well, never mind."

Emma blinked. And then blinked again. "You're… admitting to threatening a police officer?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded succinctly, smirking at her.

"Tell me who put you up to this," she tried, sure that he'd never have admitted to it so smugly if he'd done it on his own.

A look of fear crossed his features before it was carefully masked behind the arrogance once more. "Don't know what you're talking about," he deflected - almost convincingly.

"Of course you do," Emma tried again. "The investigation into LeGume hasn't turned up any leads that would tie him to you; you had no reason to threaten Lieutenant Jones. Whoever put you up to it must have wanted the detective to look the other way. Someone told you to put that note on his car. Someone told you to destroy the evidence Jones found at the scene."

She thought that adding in that second charge would throw him off balance. Evidence tampering was much harder to wave off than what ended up being an empty threat to a fellow officer.

Nottingham just shrugged. "Nope. Just me. Thought losing the evidence would get him booted. What are you going to do about it?"

Emma read him his rights.

It was only when she finished that he began to splutter, rising to his feet with a look of utter disbelief as she cinched handcuffs around his wrists and led him to a cell. He didn't fight her, per se, but he wasn't willingly ambling along either. Emma thought about securing him in with the rest of the detainees overnight while she processed his paperwork, but wanted to make sure everything went by the book. So, a cell to himself, it was.

The clang of the jail cell slamming shut seemed to flip the switch in Nottingham, as if he had begun to realize that whoever his benefactor was - and Emma didn't need to pass a detective's exam to guess who it was - he wasn't coming to the rescue. Nottingham stalked the length of the cell, muttering under his breath the entire time, looking up every once in awhile before sulking to the back corner and starting his circuit again.

Emma needed to go fill out all the paperwork, but she was transfixed by the pattern Nottingham was making. Was he really willing to sacrifice himself rather than give up Gold?

"Thank you for taking out the trash as it were," Gold praised as he appeared behind her out of nowhere. Emma refused to jump, though he'd startled her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a sneer. His eyes never left the scene playing out in front of them, Nottingham pacing behind the bars of the cell like a caged wolf.

Emma turned to face him, not willing to watch the scapegoat any longer. "You're not getting away with this," she promised, seething.

"Actually, I am." Gold smirked and leaned forward a bit. "I think you'll find that all your evidence conveniently points to Nottingham. Won't find a thing to tie me to any of this. I'm going to walk away from this with clean hands."

He was right. The bastard was right and there wasn't anything Emma could do to change it.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to try. "That's not gonna happen," she assured herself more than threatened him. Emma had dealt with her fair share of bullies growing up. He was just another one.

"I like your confidence," Gold admitted with a disarming smile. Emma saw why Jones called him a crocodile, with all his teeth proudly glinting in the fluorescent lighting. "It's charming. But it doesn't change the fact that I win again."

Emma snarled. "You know I'm going to figure this out. I'm willing to roll the dice. Follow whatever bread crumbs I have to to finish this. And when I do, who knows what might come out about you in the process. Somehow I suspect there is more to you than a simple Homicide captain. You really want to start that fight?"

Gold grinned, but Emma could see the flicker of unease that he was trying to hide. It was gone an instant later, but Emma had seen it and that was all that mattered.

Gold's days were numbered.

"I like you, Ms. Swan," he blustered. "You're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you finish your investigation and get out of my precinct."

He walked away before Emma could get another word in. She shuddered with the need to do _something_. She was _sure_ that Nottingham had been the one to threaten Jones and impede his investigation into LeGume's murder; he'd admitted it and he wasn't lying. But he wasn't the type to do it on his own.

No, Emma would have to dig deeper if she was going to figure out what Gold had on the officer, but she _would_ find it and once she did, she'd use it herself to flip Nottingham on his leash-holder. With nothing else to do with or for Nottingham, Emma turned resolutely away and stomped back to her desk.

She nearly screeched when a hand darted out from the stairway and tugged her inside. Killian grabbed her wrist before she could punch him in the face, using his size to crowd her back against the wall and out of sight from the rest of the precinct.

"What the _hell_ , Jones!" she hissed vehemently, wriggling and trying to get free.

Killian smirked, not hurting her, but clearly using his height advantage to stop her from getting free. "You want to calm down, darling?" he asked, a hint of something sharp in his tone.

Emma stomped on his instep, not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to make him yelp and let her go.

"Bloody hell, woman," he whined, one hand pushed against her shoulder to keep her in place while the other reached in vain for his injured foot.

"Let. Me. Go!" Emma ordered, reaching threateningly for his pinky finger.

Killian gingerly put his foot down and made a show of taking his hand off her shoulder. "What did Gold want? Are you all right?" he finally asked.

Emma blinked. _That_ was what all of this was for? "Are you _kidding me_ right now? I thought we agreed that the less people see of us together, the better.

Killian shrugged and Emma wanted to be annoyed. She _did_. Half of the evidence they were able to compile on Gold had remained untainted because Killian wasn't connected with her. And _she_ wasn't connected with _him_. But he looked so sincere and goddamned endearing that it was a struggle to keep the smile from escaping.

"I'm fine, Jones," she assured him softly, reaching out to lay her hand on his chest. _What the hell are you doing?_ she thought before yanking her hand back like she'd been burned. "He was just spewing nonsense about how he's going to get away with everything. The arrogance…"

Emma could _see_ the frustration and… was that resignation on Jones's face?

"We'll get him, Swan," Killian vowed, shaking away whatever Emma had seen in his eyes. "We have to. _I_ have to. For Milah."

* * *

_"Get out of my bloody way!" he shouts, trying to push past the two men holding him back. "That's my… that's… I need…"_

_God, he doesn't know what he needs. To start the day over? To be in the car with her? To get to her side, hold her hand, pretend that he was there in her last moments?_

_All of the above?_

_He knows it's too late; he heard the call for the medical examiner on the way across the city, lights and sirens blaring even though he knew he'd be suspended for it. She's already gone and there's nothing he can do about it._

_But he still needs to get to her side._

_"Liam!" he shouts, catching sight of his brother with a notepad and pen. "Liam, tell them to let me through!"_

_Killian watches as his brother looks up, can see the regret etched across Liam's face even from this far away. It's not grief there, no of course it isn't. Liam has never approved of what his little brother has gotten involved in. But Killian knows his brother isn't heartless, either. Not even his misgivings about the situation would stand in the way of-_

_"You can't be here, little brother," Liam says, but the words don't make any sense._

_Killian shakes his head, not understanding. "Liam, I have to…"_

_"You have to_ go _, Killian. You can't be here, right now. The scene-"_

_"I don't care a bloody whit about the_ scene _, Liam!" he shouts, struggling against the other men still holding him back. "I need to get to her. Brother,_ please _."_

_Milah is right there, still sitting in the car as though waiting for the tree to pull up its roots and move out of her way. He can't see her face, but he can see her hair, the curls blowing in the breeze. Bloody hell, he couldn't even count the number of times they'd driven down to the Cape and he'd spent half of the ride spitting her hair out of his mouth. It was all about freedom, she'd told him time and time again. She felt like she could breathe when she was with him, so the last thing she wanted to do was restrict her hair._

_"I'm sorry, Killian, you know I can't-" Liam's head snaps to the side as Killian's knuckles collide with his cheek. Blood drips from a cut that one of his rings left behind._

_Killian almost feels bad. Almost._

_"Some bloody brother, you are," Killian hisses, yanking his other arm free from the officer and stepping back. He wants his brother to hit him back, wants to fight with someone - anyone - so he doesn't have to concentrate on-_

_"I know you don't mean that," Liam says calmly, pulling out a handkerchief to blot at the blood before it can sully his crime scene. That's all it is to him, Killian realizes, just another case._

_"Liam," he pleads, "I have to see her. I don't_ care _what the rules are."_

_"But_ I _do," Liam insists, ducking under the tape and trying to pull Killian away._

_Killian resists, tearing his brother's hand off his shoulder and spinning away from him, trying once again to get to her car._

_"Killian,_ listen _to me. You can't help her, not anymore. All you're going to do is give Gold an excuse to implicate you."_

_Killian freezes, but only for a moment. "You think my fingerprints, my_ DNA _isn't all over that car? I'm_ already _going to be a suspect, you bloody moron. What difference does it make?"_

_Liam takes a step back, the look on his face some combination of brotherly horror and resignation. "I'm sorry, little brother," he tries again._

_"No! Liam, you have to-" he cuts himself off, shoving Liam aside and storming through the tape._

_Liam grabs him one more time and Killian swings again, red coloring his vision as he gives in to the fiery anger coursing through him. He doesn't know how many times he hits his brother before he's lying facedown on the ground, Locksley's knee in his back and handcuffs around his wrists._

_"No! Liam, no, don't do this! Robin, let me go!" he keeps shouting, not noticing nor caring how many eyes from the precinct are on him. Not caring about how all of this is going to get back to Gold. Let him know how much Killian still… will always love Milah. Let him see what_ Gold _should have felt about her._

_Robin doesn't move as Liam kneels next to Killian's head. Killian forces his head back, arching his neck so that he can glare at his brother. Liam is bleeding from the nose now, his left eye already swelling._

_"I hate you," Killian hisses. "I hate you and I wish-"_

_"Don't say something you'll regret later, little brother. I already forgive you," Liam says gently. "Robin's going to get you out of here before someone decides to-"_

_"I hate you," Killian hisses again, but the fight is leaching out of him as quickly as it came. Even his anger isn't enough to get him out of handcuffs._

_Liam nods sadly, but motions to Locksley and moves to help stand Killian up. They frog march him back to the squad car and fold him into the backseat, both ignoring the threats and the callous remarks he throws their way._

_"I'm sorry I have to leave you with him like this," Liam apologizes to Robin and it just ramps the anger right back up. Liam has been apologizing for him all their lives; Killian hates it now even more than he had growing up. "I wish I could-"_

_"Captain Gold is already gunning for him, sir," Locksley interrupts. Their words are muffled through the window, but Killian can still hear them. "We don't need you getting in trouble, too. I'll take care of him."_

_"I know you will, mate. Here, I don't know if he has the keys with him." Liam hands over a set of keys, wincing when Killian's shoulder hits the glass. Killian glares at him when he bends down to make sure he didn't hurt himself. "Take him to the marina, see if you can't get him inside. I'll be along as soon as I can get away."_

_Killian doesn't even wait for Robin to shut the driver's door before he lays into him. He keeps screaming as they pull away from the scene._

_Away from Milah._

* * *

"Where'd you go, Jones?" Emma asked softly, drawing his attention from where he was staring a hole in the wall back to her. The haunted look in his eyes frightened her; men who looked like that were unpredictable when it came to their crusades.

Captain Gold and his eventual downfall was _definitely_ a crusade.

But Killian just shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs and grinned disarmingly at her. It didn't reach his eyes. "Nowhere fun," was all the answer he'd give.

Emma didn't need him to tell her - she could read him like an open book. She wondered how many times a month… or week… or day Killian relived Milah's death. He'd never told her the story, but officer reports put him at the scene soon after her official time of death. Emma could put two and two together.

"Look, Killian, I get it. I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like for you, working under him every day while you _know_ what he did to her. But we've got to be smart about this. We-"

"You think I don't _know_ that?"

Emma stared for a moment. "What part of 'we can't be associated with each other' did you miss, then?"

He shrugged. "No one's paying attention. I just…" he trails off, scratching behind his ear. It was a tell if ever Emma saw one.

"You just what?" she prompted beseechingly.

But Killian didn't answer. The slam of a door somewhere above him echoed through the stairwell and was followed by thudding footsteps.

"Go home, Jones," Emma hissed to avoid being heard by whomever was above them. "I promise I'll steer clear of Gold and his fancy words if you'll be a little more careful about being seen with me."

Killian nodded, slipping silently down the stairs before whoever was coming saw him. When he was gone, Emma slumped back against the wall and let out the breath she'd been holding for what felt like ever.

"Afternoon, ma'am," Henry Mills called out when he stepped onto the stairs just above her. "Can I help you with something?"

The sheer feeling of relief that overtook her seeing it was Nolan's rookie rather than one of Gold's lackeys surprised her. Would it really kill her case if someone saw her and Jones talking? No. She'd done fine without him before all this and she would do fine when this case was over and they were back to separate departments. So why the concern?

A niggling feeling at the back of Emma's mind told her she already knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it to anyone - least of all, herself.

"Ma'am?" Mills questioned again when Emma was silent for too long.

She nodded. "I could use some help pulling Nottingham's files," she began.

"Sure!" the rookie practically beamed at the idea of helping her. No one would bat an eye at the kid working with her, so the question remained.

_Why is it different with Jones?_

Hours later, Emma and Henry had pulled dozens of cases that Nottingham had closed. One thing was certain, though no one seemed to like the man, he was effective in what he did. The problem was, there were too many complaints sandwiched between the successful cases for Emma to even begin to decipher where Gold's interference came into play.

"Thank you, Henry," she said sincerely after making her last copy of the day. She was exhausted and even the rookie's exuberance had waned with the passing hours. The poor kid looked as dead on his feet as she felt.

"No problem," he replied tiredly, slamming the last filing cabinet drawer closed and pushing the lock button. He tossed her the keys, nodding his head towards the officer who was waiting to log them out. "You want to take care of 'Grumpy' over there?"

Emma bit back a smirk. "I'll handle him. You get out of here."

He grinned gratefully before slipping past the surly officer with a nod. Emma watched him go before squaring her shoulders and heading out the same way.

"It's about time, sister!" the officer growled as he snatched the keys from her. "Some of us got better things to do than wait around for you IA rats to burrow into the past."

Emma just raised an eyebrow. "I'll be back tomorrow," she promised, determined to find some kind of link.

Leroy - according to the name tag that had seen better days - just scowled. "Fine, fine. Just try not to stay so late, huh?"

Emma whipped her head around to find the clock behind his desk.

11:45pm.

No wonder the little man was pissed. Emma's stomach voiced its own protest at her long hours, the bear claw she'd had for lunch long since forgotten. She tried to look a little sheepish to mollify the officer, but he just glared and turned away. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Emma beat it out of there, determined to keep going until she'd crossed the threshold of her apartment and found her bed.

The squad room was nearly deserted as she passed by, only a few angry eyes watching her progress as she walked, head held high. She barely stopped at her desk to grab her bag before walking calmly for the elevator.

The night air was cool on her face and she paused for a second to soak it in. Boston may be filled with city air and city sounds, but it was home. She loved the bustle and the smell, the history and the modern melding into one culture that filled the city with whatever someone wanted to find. It was all there, waiting to be explored.

Her stomach growled again and Emma amended her earlier resolve to head straight home. If she hurried, she could get to Downtown Crossing and find something to eat that wasn't freezer burned or past its expiration date. Sleep could wait; her stomach couldn't.

Footsteps. _Damnit._

Emma rolled her eyes as she turned the corner into the same alleyway where she'd first threatened Jones all those weeks ago. It was late, she was tired, and she'd honestly thought that he'd left the station hours ago. She was glad that Killian had taken her edict seriously and he wasn't trying to corner her in the office again, but whatever he wanted could wait until tomorrow. On the boat. After she'd had some sleep.

"For the love of God, can't you take a hint?" she asked testily, whirling around to face him.

Emma was still speaking when the fist ploughed into her face and sent her sprawling. "What the-" was all she could get out around the vice that gripped her chest when the wall behind her knocked the wind out of her.

_Not Jones_ , her brain helpfully informed her a split second before someone's billy club sliced through the night air. Emma only just managed to duck away, the hard rod impacting her shoulder blade rather than her neck - her assailant's intended target. The blow still stunned her, making Emma stumble and throw one hand out to steady herself against the wall. The other reached for the knife she always kept in her pocket, needing something - _anything -_ to protect her.

She rued the fact that she didn't carry her gun on a daily basis.

The familiar icy feeling of the metal grip pushed back some of the fear from being attacked. Emma harnessed the adrenaline as she'd been trained and spun on her heel to face her attacker.

_Attackers_.

There were three men circled around her, masks on their faces that made them look like they'd come straight off a B-movie set.

"Who are you, the Three Stooges? It gonna take all three of you to take down little old me?" Emma snarked, eyeing the badges clipped to their belts.

Cops.

Gold's men.

None of them were small enough to be Isaac, but Emma couldn't worry about their identities now. Stringbean and R2-D2 stepped back and she turned to face her third attacker head on. She ducked and slashed when the beefiest of the three took a swing at her, trying to grab her jacket. He pulled back with a howl, clutching his hand where blood oozed out. A painful wound, but not enough to slow him down, she catalogued automatically.

_Keep track of all targets, it may save your life_ , her training echoed in her thoughts.

It was easier said than done. They came at her all at once, ducking and weaving around her own strikes and trying their best to catch hold of her. Emma wasn't aware of the damage they were inflicting at the time, her fight or flight response far too well engaged to notice trivial things like pain.

And then she was very aware of the lightning strike of pain at the base of her skull. One of the bastards had caught hold of her hair and yanked her off balance. Another trapped her arm under his and pried the knife from her desperately clenched fingers.

"What are you, seventh grade girls?" she managed to mutter before Beefy slammed his fist into her solar plexus, driving every last bit of air from her lungs.

Gasping and choking, Emma could do little more than go limp as Stringbean shoved her face-first into the brick wall. Her head hit the wall with a resounding _thump_ and Emma slid down in spite of her best attentions.

R2-D2 began to kick at her and Emma pulled herself into as small of a ball as she could manage, wincing each time he connected with her ribs and biting back the tears - of pain and frustration both - until she could find an opening to regain her footing.

It never came.

Emma howled when Stringbean stomped on her hand, something underneath it shredding her palm open. He didn't give her the opportunity to pull it protectively into her chest, just stood with all his weight on it before hauling back and kicking her in the head with his other foot.

"Get your ass out of our house, bitch," was the last thing she heard before blackness closed in around her.


	7. Triage Protocol

Killian blinked sleepily, the pitch blackness of his living room giving way to dark grays as his eyes adjusted to the night.  He groaned and turned over, punching his pillow into some semblance of submission before squeezing his eyes shut and trying to fall back into the dream.  It was a good dream; he and Milah and a picnic lunch on the _Jolly_ with no one around and nothing to do.  It had been a nearly perfect Saturday, the wind not quite enough to fill the sails but they weren’t going anywhere anyway.  She’d been smiling easily, the burden of being Robert Gold’s wife the furthest from her mind.  Milah had just leaned in, whispering-

He jolted awake again, this time to the sound of scratching, then the lock on the front door sliding open.  Reaching over his head, Killian grabbed his weapon and slid it out of its holster, thumbing off the safety.  He never took his eyes off the front door.

“Whoever you are,” he announced when the light from the hallway sliced through the darkness, “you’re breaking into the home of a police officer.”

Instead of the scurrying of feet he expected, Killian was surprised to hear, “And what would you say if I told you I already knew that?”

_Swan_.

He lowered the weapon immediately, storing it safely away before standing a bit too quickly, swaying back before crossing to the door.  There had been something off in her tone, something guarded in a way that he hadn’t heard in weeks.  The light stabbed at his eyes, making him blink several times before her face came into focus.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed out, trying not to let his jaw drop in shock.  Swan was a bloody mess, her left eye already swelling shut and blood flowing freely from a gash in her hairline and both nostrils.  She was shaking a little, from stress or chill he wasn’t sure, but Killian yanked his hoodie over his head and offered it to her.

“Always the gentleman, aren’t you, Jones?” she quipped sarcastically, but accepted the sweatshirt and pulled it gingerly to her chest.  It looked like she was trying to soak in the warmth of it like a child would a teddy bear after a nightmare.

“Come in, please,” Killian urged, ignoring the sarcasm and ushering her beyond the doorway.  Once he’d locked the door again, he turned to lead her to the couch.  “What on earth happened, Swan?”

Emma shrugged painfully, struggling to pull the sweatshirt down and biting back a whimper.

“Emma...” he trailed off at her glare, nodding to the couch he’d been sleeping on a few moments before and heading for the bathroom.  He changed tactics as he walked.  “I’ll get some ice and the first aid kit.”

Fully stocked as always thanks to Liam’s insistence, the first aid kit was easily accessible under the sink in the bathroom.  Killian dampened a washcloth as well before stopping in the kitchen for an ice pack.  By the time he’d gotten back to Emma, she was slumped into the corner of the couch, completely dwarfed by his sweatshirt and looked ready to fall asleep.

“Stay with me for a few moments, lass,” Killian whispered, trying not to startle her.

It didn’t work.  Emma jumped, trying to stand quickly and failing.  There was an audible _whoosh_ as her back collided with the couch.  She was still for a moment before shaking her head - Killian recognized the move as trying to shake off dizziness.

“Hey,” he tried again, waiting until she looked up at him.  “Do we need to get you to a-”

“No!” Emma interrupted, too loudly if the accompanying wince was any indication.  “No, I’m fine.”

Killian looked at her skeptically.  “Are you sure?”

Emma held her hand out impatiently, practically swiping the washcloth from his grasp and rubbing it under her nose with a wince.  The bleeding didn’t stop, so Killian sat down on the coffee table and started digging through the kit for some gauze.  “You want to tell me what happened now?” he tried again.

“Not particularly,” Emma replied, crossing her eyes as he waved the gauze in front of her face.  She sighed and took the materials, swapping it out for the washcloth.  “It’s nothing I didn’t expect, although Gold’s men are a little more… thorough than I’m used to.”

Killian saw red.

“Quit imagining yourself as my knight in shining armor, Jones,” Emma snarked when she caught his gaze.

“I much prefer dashing rapscallion,” he retorted weakly, not quite ready to be as blasé about the whole thing as Emma was.  He didn’t want to believe that members of his department were responsible for the marks on her face, but couldn’t deny that Gold _was_ that sadistic.  A man who could orchestrate the murder of his wife for finding love elsewhere could certainly convince some of his men to make sure that an Internal Affairs detective knew she was unwelcome in her meddling.

"Who was it?" he asked, already knowing that she wouldn't tell him.

Emma just shook her head before pulling the gauze away from her nose and making a show of inspecting it.  The bright red soaked into the material, but hadn't yet saturated it.  When she turned back to him, Killian saw that she was still bleeding, but not quite so badly anymore.  He made a show of folding the washcloth before reaching out slowly to dab away the crusting blood from her upper lip.  She flinched at the contact, but allowed him to continue, unable to meet his gaze.  Some of the blood was more stubborn, clinging to her skin and making him use a little more pressure to erase it from her skin.  It wasn't much, but it was all he could do to allow himself to feel as though he were helping her.

When the blood under her nose was finally gone, Killian refolded the cloth to find a clean bit and reached up towards her forehead.  This time Emma turned sharply away before taking a deep breath and turning back to him.  A slight tremor coursed through her entire body when he reached out again, slower this time, but she allowed the contact and closed her eyes under his ministrations.

He worked to stop the bleeding at her hairline for a moment, trading out the washcloth for a pad of gauze to put pressure on the gash.  It wasn’t gaping, but it had split open enough to concern him.

"I don't think this needs stitches," he whispered to keep the silence from overwhelming her - overwhelming _him_ \- as he worked.  "A couple steri-strips and you'll be right as rain, Swan."

Emma scoffed.  "Gonna take a lot more than sticky bandaids to put me back together," she said, turning panicked eyes towards him before her gaze flitted away again.  Killian knew _exactly_ how that felt, and he had a feeling she hadn't meant to say that out loud.  

"Aye, luv, maybe.  But at least your head has stopped bleeding for the time being," he agreed, letting her off the hook.

Emma smiled gratefully at him before taking the washcloth out of his hands and swiping it under her nose again.  No fresh blood dripped out and she slumped back into the couch cushions again, closing her eyes and letting out a stuttered breath.

"I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.

Killian nodded, though she couldn't see it.  "You can always come here, Swan.  Always."

She tilted her head, the only acceptance she could give that declaration, and dropped the washcloth to the floor.

Killian snapped it up immediately, pulling a wry grin from Emma.  "Neat freak," she whispered.

"Sloven," he shot back without heat.

Emma smiled, her eyes blinking slowly, still dazed.

"How's your head?" he asked cautiously.  "Any dizziness or blurry vision?"

She shook her head 'no'.  Killian wasn’t sure he believed her.

"Are there two of my handsome faces asking you ridiculous questions?" he tried to smile genuinely when she glared at him.

Emma rolled her eyes and clearly regretted it.  "One of you is far more than enough, Jones."

Killian smiled dryly, but relaxed a little and leaned back with his hands supporting him on the table.  “All the same, luv, I’d feel better if you stayed here tonight.”

Emma eyed him warily.

“You can take my room.”  Killian waved over his shoulder towards the hallway.  “I just changed the sheets this morning.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Emma muttered, staring intently at her nails.  Killian started to insist, but she cut him off.  “I’ll stay if it’s that important to you, but I can sleep on the couch.  God knows I’ve slept in worse places.”

Killian scoffed his opinion of that.  “My brother would have my hide if I let a woman - an injured woman at that - sleep on our couch when there are perfectly serviceable beds available.  He’s up north at our cabin, so I can sleep in his room if you’re worried about my delicate sensibilities.”  He didn’t mention that he’d been sleeping on the couch when she’d broken in.

No need to tell her that there were too many memories in that bed sometimes for him to fit comfortably, too.

Emma stared at him for a long moment, studying him intently before she nodded reluctantly.

“Excellent,” he crowed, slapping his hands on his thighs and making to rise.  “I’ll just-”

“Stay for a bit?  Please?” Emma asked in a whisper, almost breathing the words instead of speaking them.  “I just… I don’t want to sleep just yet.”

Killian nodded, moving slowly until he was sitting on the couch next to her.  There was still a respectable amount of space between them, but he wanted to be far more comfortable if they were going to be there for the foreseeable future.  “What shall we talk about then, Swan?”

Emma was silent for a while, lost in her own head.  He wondered if she was falling asleep when she mumbled, “Tell me about the cabin?”

Killian smiled genially, settling back into the cushions.  “It’s not much, or at least it wasn’t when we bought it.  But it’s ours.”  He realized he’d said something similar about the _Jolly Roger_ when he’d introduced her to Emma, but it was true.  He and Liam hadn’t had much in life, but what they called theirs they took pride in.

He went on for some time, waxing on about the renovations and improvements they’d made in the years since they’d signed the paperwork.  He spoke about Liam’s obsession with the roof and how one summer, they’d spent every weekend and day off tearing down the chimney and rebuilding it brick by brick.

“It’s an escape, luv, as much as it is a place where we’ve always fallen back on to lick our wounds.  Liam…” he trailed off, unsure if he should continue.  But Emma still looked a bit too wild-eyed to sleep and Killian wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight yet, either.  “Liam goes there a lot, now.  I think it helps him deal with… well, it’s an escape from the City and what he’s lost.  He makes sure it’s always ready if we need it, no matter the time or reasoning.”

Emma nodded slowly, as if she weren’t really paying attention.  He continued to tell her about it - the fishing hole they’d found one summer and the family of raccoons that had made their home in Liam’s bedroom one winter.

“You should see it sometime, Swan,” he told her when he’d finally run out of things to describe.

“Mmm,” Emma mumbled in response and Killian was surprised to find her half-asleep on his shoulder.  He’d been so caught up in painting the scene around the cabin for her that he’d barely noticed her moving.

It was nice, he decided as she snuggled in closer to him.  He’d forgotten the comfort of a woman asleep at his side.  Killian allowed himself a few minutes to bask in the sensation before he gently shook Emma back to wakefulness.  She’d likely not remember this in the morning.  He hoped she wouldn’t anyway.  Emma was starting to open up to him, starting to trust him.  He had a feeling, however, that she wasn’t quite ready to be that vulnerable with him.

“Come on, Swan,” he coaxed.  “Your bed awaits.”

Emma mumbled something unintelligible, but grasped his hand when he offered it.

Only to pull it back with a stuttered cry as she cradled her hand against her chest protectively.  Killian could see the fight or flight response taking shape in the hunch of her shoulders and the flaring of her nostrils.  He raised his palms in supplication before telegraphing his movements to reach out and gently take her hand in his own.

He counted it as a monumental victory when Emma let him.

The fight leeched out of her quickly as Killian turned her hand over to inspect the damage that had gone - as yet -unnoticed.  The back of her hand was mottled in blacks and blues, the knuckles nearly lost in the swelling the puffed up her fingers right down to her wrist.  He thought he could make out a boot print in the dim lighting.  Her palm was abraded and lacerated - one of the cuts deep enough that Killian thought it might need those stitches he’d mentioned earlier.

“Swan,” he muttered, looking up to see that she’d nearly fallen asleep again, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused.  She tracked his movements as he reached behind him, but Killian could tell she wasn’t really paying attention.

At least, she wasn’t until he doused her hand with a liberal amount of the only alcohol he’d found - Liam’s rum - hidden under the med kit.

“What the _hell_ is that?” she shouted, trying to pull her hand away from him again.

Killian held on tight, dropping the bottle on the table and reaching for some roller gauze to cover the wounds.  “It’s rum, and a bloody waste of it,” he retorted with a smirk before tying off the gauze in a neat bow. 

Emma’s snarl not doing much to deter him, Killian unwrapped a new Ace bandage before winding it around her wrist up to her fingers and then popping an ice pack for her to hold.  “Good as new,” he mumbled as lightly as he could, trying not to let her know he was still seeing red when he thought of what she must have gone through.

At his inability to protect another woman from Gold’s machinations.

“Thank you,” Emma muttered, cradling her hand again with a shudder.  “Although, you know that rum isn’t exactly a good disinfectant.”

Killian scoffed.  “Says you and half a dozen medical organizations.  I like it just fine for cleaning out scrapes.”

Emma smiled tiredly, but there was a gleam in her eyes that set Killian at ease.  “Come on, luv, let’s get you settled.”

Emma followed him readily down the hall.  Killian counted it as a win when she didn’t try to argue with him again about the sleeping arrangements.  He really didn’t mind letting her have the room; Liam had taught him long before dress blues and badges how to be an ‘Officer and a Gentleman’.

Killian switched on the bedside lamp before turning to rummage through the closet for a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt.  “These will probably be too big, but at least they’re clean,” he offered, holding up the clothes.

Emma looked down at her shirt for perhaps the first time, finally realizing just how much blood she’d spilled onto the material.  “Oh,” she whispered dumbly, plucking the shirt away from her chest.

“Aye,” he agreed with the unspoken sentiment.  “I’ll leave you to it, luv.  The bathroom’s the next door down the hall if you want to get cleaned up.  There are fresh towels in the linen closet in there.”

Emma managed a small nod before accepting his clothes and looking anywhere other than into his eyes.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

Killian smiled gently.  “I’ll be in the room across the hall if you need anything, Swan.  I’ll see you in the morning otherwise.”  He left the room before her cheeks could turn any redder.

* * *

Light filtered through the curtains and Emma rolled away from the intrusion before sucking in a startled breath.  Everything hurt.  Everything smelled wrong.

She wasn’t in her room.

Emma sat straight up, looking around, searching for anything she could find: a clue, a weapon, anything.  It only startled her further when one eye remained stubbornly shut.  Her hand shot to her face, gingerly feeling the bruising around her eye.  It all started to come back to her in bits and pieces.  The threats in the alley, the beating, stumbling down the street to her car, driving to find safety.

Getting to Jones.

Jones’s apartment, right.  That’s where she’d ended up when she hadn’t known where else to go.  She hadn’t wanted to be alone, not with a headache and blurry vision.  So she had come here, not wanting to frighten anyone else she knew.  She’d knocked on the door several times, but he hadn’t answered.  Emma knew he was there, she’d parked next to his car - the contrast between her Bug and his Chevelle making her laugh in spite of herself.

_What were you thinking last night?_ she wondered angrily, remembering suddenly that she’d used her lock picks to gain entry.  God, she’d gotten far too comfortable with Jones in her life.  The only other place she’d dared to break into like that since escaping the foster system was Ruby and Dorothy’s place.  And they knew when she was going to do it.

Now, she could hear him puttering about somewhere beyond her… beyond _his_ bedroom door.  There was the unmistakable sound of a microwave running and… God, was that _him_ singing?  Emma was torn between feigning sleep until he’d finished in the kitchen and needing the caffeine she knew was beyond the door.

The decision was made for her a few minutes later when he knocked gently on the door.  “If you’re awake, luv, there’s coffee in the cabinet over the machine.  I’m going to hop in the shower.”

He was gone before she could answer.

Emma waited until she heard the bathroom door close before throwing back the blankets and setting her feet on the cold, wood floor.  A chill shot through her and she resisted the urge to huddle back into the warmth of the bed.  It smelled like him, the scent lingering in the pillows though she remembered him telling her that he’d changed the sheets.

She needed to get out of there.

Emma forced herself to stand up, biting back a wince and a groan when the movement made everything start to hurt again.  She gingerly lifted the hem of the shirt he’d leant her, staring in amazement at the spectacular array of colors splashed across her ribs.  One of the men had gotten in a few good kicks to her ribs before his accomplices had pulled him off.

“Sorry, luv, I just wan- bloody _hell_!”  Killian interrupted her perusal of her injuries.

Emma looked up, startled, still holding the shirt just below her breasts.  Killian’s eyes were slammed shut, the tips of his ears and his cheeks stained pink.  The clear embarrassment was endearing.

“It’s all right, Jones,” she called, dropping the shirt.  “I’m decent.”

His eyes opened slowly, trained intently on her socked feet.  “Your ribs.  They’re…”

“Bruised, not broken I don’t think,” Emma self-diagnosed.  “I’ve had broken ribs a few times and this isn’t nearly as painful.”

“Still,” Killian insisted, “we should get you to urgent care, just to be on the safe side.”

Emma scoffed her opinion of that.  “I already work a desk job, Jones.  What are they going to do other than give me a scrip for Ibuprofen 800 and tell me to take it easy?”

Killian shrugged, still looking sheepishly at her feet.

“My eyes are up here,” she snarked lightly.  She was rewarded with his piercing blue eyes traveling up her body before boring down on her.

“I think I have some of my last prescription leftover if you’d like some,” he responded, still staring at her.  “I know it’s against our profession, but I don’t think anyone will throw the book at us for glorified Advil.”

Emma laughed in spite of herself, clutching at her ribs as she did so.  “I promise not to arrest you if you’ll sweeten the deal with a glass of water.”

He came back with the pill, water, and her clothes from the night before - clean and smelling of fabric softener.  Emma took them with a small smile of thanks before retreating into the bathroom.  It took her only a few minutes to strip down and lose herself to her thoughts under the hot spray of water.  She didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in her injuries; she had a case to solve.

_They_ had a case to solve.  Emma had to keep reminding herself.  She wasn’t alone anymore.

Medicated and showered a short time later, Emma took a better look around the bedroom.  It was clear that there was no woman living in the apartment, but it was also surprisingly neat and organized.  Emma supposed she shouldn’t have assumed differently, based on what she’d seen of Killian’s desk and the Joneses’ boat.

“You want to tell me who I should be on the lookout for?” Killian interrupted her cyclical musing.  

She smiled dryly at him.  “If you think that was clever, Killian, you should never do undercover work.”

Killian sighed at her.  “I didn’t think I needed to be clever, Swan.  I’d hoped that we had moved past that.”

_Oh._  She hadn’t thought about it like that.  

“That’s not… I’m not trying to…” she stopped trying to speak before she thought and took a deep breath.  “You have to work with them everyday.  Until we have proof to take down Gold, it’s better if they think they won. It’s better if they think I’m cowed.  If you go in tomorrow and… I don’t even know what, but it will blow everything we’re working for.”

“I don’t bloody care!” he shouted, clenching his fist and clearly trying to wrestle his temper under control.

“Killian…”

“I don’t care, Swan,” he told her, calmer this time.  Emma could see the fire in his eyes, but it no longer reflected in his tone.  “We’ll take Gold down; you know I’m not going to stop until that bloody bastard is rotting away somewhere, no matter what it takes.  But they shouldn’t get away with this.  With hitting a woman, hurting _you_.”

“They _won’t_ ,” she assured him.  “I won’t let them get away with it and neither will you.  But not yet.  Not yet.”

Killian sighed.  “You think that little of yourself?” he asked and Emma could hear the defeat in his tone.

She shrugged.  “A few bumps and bruises are worth it if, at the end of everything, Gold is behind bars.”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” Killian quipped with just a hint of sarcasm.  “All right, Swan, we’ll do it your way.  Just promise me that they’ll pay for this.”

It was the easiest promise she’d ever made.

“Now, I’m going to hope that you’re not as English as you sound and have some coffee in this place?” Emma asked, trying to change the subject, though he’d already offered coffee.  There was something about how vehemently he’d wanted to defend her, how readily he’d been willing to risk the Gold investigation to get justice for her, that scared her.  It scared her how much she realized she wanted him to keep being offended that she didn’t care about the beating.  It scared her how much she wanted him there the next time it happened - either to help her stop them or for her to come home to afterwards.  It scared her how much she wanted him around.

“Aye, luv, in the kitchen,” Killian nodded over his shoulder.  “I trust you know how to work an ancient drip machine?  Afraid my brother and I are a bit old fashioned; no Keurigs here.”

“I wouldn’t have survived my first year in IA if I didn’t know how to make a pot of coffee, Jones,” Emma snarked.  “Hope you like it strong.”

Killian stepped into the room, crowding her against the end of the bed.  She tried to deny to herself what his presence did to her that close.  She tried not to be affected by the way he towered over her - strong and sure but not menacing.

She failed.

“I think you’ll find that I like it strong _and_ hot,” he breathed, the look in his eyes nearly smoldering.  

Emma gulped, looking up into his eyes and seeing the desire in them.  “Please,” she deflected, “you couldn‘t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he shot back moving impossibly closer.  Emma could smell deodorant and shampoo and something else, something that reminded her of that day on his boat.

Emma didn’t know how else to respond.  She grabbed onto the lapels of his button down shirt, hauling his head down towards hers and slanting her lips over his.  Killian took barely a moment to respond, his hands coming up to tug on her hair and change the angle of the kiss.  He growled under his breath and shifted closer once more, nearly toppling them both back onto the bed.  Emma stepped forward into his space instead, her fingers leaving his shirt to scratch through his hair.  He hummed appreciatively, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and squeezing lightly.

Emma broke away from him for just a moment, trying to catch her breath and maybe her thoughts.   _Screw it_ , was all that flittered past before she pushed up on her toes to kiss him again.  She nipped his lip, begging for entrance, grinning when he granted it to her.  They battled for dominance, giving and taking until the need for air won out.

Slowly, Emma dropped back down, taking a step back until the mattress stopped her.  Then she looked up and saw him; he looked utterly wrecked, touching his lip gently where she’d bitten him.

_Oh God,_ she thought, _this was a mistake.  He’s not over Milah_.

“That was…” he trailed off and Emma was sure he was coming up with a way to apologize, to let her down gently.

“A one time thing,” she muttered, trying to let him down before he cut her knees out from under her.  Emma couldn’t look up again, couldn’t see the relief on his face.  She needed to- “I’ve got to go.  Don’t follow me, I’ll… I’ll see you at the station later.  Or maybe at the _Jolly_.”

Killian sighed and she nearly looked up.  She couldn’t do that.  If  she did, she might not leave.  Instead, she pushed past him and fled for the door.  She only just managed to make out what he said before she wrenched open the front door.

“As you wish.”

* * *

Killian watched the door close, baffled by what had just happened.  Not Emma running, he wasn’t surprised by that at all.  And not the kiss, no he understood how that worked quite well, thank you very much.  Emma Swan was good at everything she did, it seemed, and this just added to the list.  No, what he didn’t understand was what he was feeling now: not regret, not guilt, but… but lust.  Hope.  _Happiness_.

Milah’s ghost was silent; he couldn’t even feel her presence over his shoulder like he usually did.  The only thing he could feel was the continued presence of Emma and her kiss.  What the hell was going on?  He thought he’d grieve Milah for the rest of his days, _knew_ he’d never love another, that he couldn’t sully the love she’d honored him with by moving on.

And yet.

And yet, he could still feel Emma’s fingers running through his hair, could still smell the shampoo she’d borrowed from _his_ shower, could still taste the mint that lingered after… _God, she can kiss_ , he thought as his thoughts skittered away from Milah and back towards the enigmatic Swan.  Killian’s lips still tingled, as if she were still there and hadn’t run like a frightened deer.

_Don’t follow me._

Bloody hell, that was _exactly_ what he wanted to do.  He wanted to figure this out.  He _needed_ to find out what this meant.  He had to understand.

How had she snuck up on him like this?

Killian sank down onto his bed, resisting the urge to run his hand over the sheets where she’d slept.  He hadn’t meant for this to happen.  All he’d wanted to do was get his revenge.  What would happen after that?  Well, he never really allowed himself to think that far ahead.  Not when all he saw was taking down Gold in a blaze of glory.  It didn’t really matter how, as long as the scaly little imp was dead and buried.

He didn’t mean to open his heart again.

What was it about him and difficult women to love?

“Killian?  Are you here?  Killian!” Liam shouted through the apartment, making Killian jump.  He didn’t understand why his brother sounded so frantic.

“I’m here!” he called back, running towards the door before he was even fully standing.  Was Liam hurt?  Had the neurotoxin-

Liam was standing in the middle of the living room, eyes wild and hand reaching for his hip, scrabbling when he didn’t find a holster.  Liam hadn’t worn a holster since the incident.

“Liam?” Killian asked, doing a visual inspection as he moved closer, just in case.

Liam’s head whipped around and he looked Killian up and down.  Which didn’t make any sense - _Liam_ was the one with the muscle tremors and the warnings that no one knew what effect the toxin had long-term.

“Are you all right?” Killian asked when his brother still didn’t move.  Liam nodded slowly, and Killian’s heart rate sped up when he still didn’t relax.

“The…” Liam caught his breath and Killian could see him physically shaking off whatever had frightened him.  When he spoke again, a tinge of embarrassment - and something else - colored his tone.  “The door was open.  There was blood on the handle.  With all the cases you’ve solved, I thought… You’re not hurt?”

Killian blinked.  Was _that_ what this was all about?

“I’m fine,” he said again, telegraphing his movements as he slowly crossed the room to shut the door, trying not to think about the blood on the handle.   _Emma’s blood._  Instead of sprinting down the hall looking for her, Killian made a show of locking it.  “I think you’ve been out in the woods too long, brother.  All that fresh air has gone to your head.”

Liam laughed, but it was strained.  “Aye, maybe that’s it.  But there’s blood on the door.”

“It’s not mine,” Killian tried, not wanting to explain everything that had happened in the last twelve hours.  Not wanting to explain why Liam’s bedclothes were rumpled and clearly slept in. 

Liam just raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Killian questioned, hoping he could change the subject and suddenly, irrationally, glad that Liam hadn’t walked in a few minutes earlier.  They were both adults, so why did it feel as though he’d successfully snuck a girl out of his bedroom before his big brother caught him?

_Because you did, you bloody fool_.

Liam shrugged, finally moving from what Killian now realized was a fighting stance and heading for the kitchen.  “Missed you.  Got any coffee started?”

Killian followed, a little slack-jawed.   _I like it strong_ and _hot_ echoed in his head.  What the bloody hell had he been doing?

_Flirting_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother’s echoed back.

“No coffee?” Liam sounded surprised.  “Having a bit of a lie-in were you?  There isn’t a woman here, is there?  Should I go down to Dunks and come back in an hour or two?”

Killian could _feel_ his ears redden.

“There’s no one here,” he answered lamely, resisting the urge to scratch behind his ear.

Liam squinted, looking for all the world like he wanted to toss his brother’s room looking for clues to the contrary.  “Then whose blood was on the door?”

Killian sighed.  “Swan’s,” he admitted.

“So there _was_ a girl.  You didn’t make her breakfast?  Did she sneak out on you?”  Liam was laughing as he spoke.

“No.  And I was going to.  And no!”  He was pouting.  Killian _knew_ he was pouting.  But it felt like he was sixteen years old again and his older and world-wise brother was interrogating him over his first date.

“No there _wasn’t_ a girl?  But you just said-”

“Sod _off_ , Liam!” Killian shouted, just as he had as a teenager, before storming out of the room.  After finding Emma in the state he had and then the kiss and now this?  He needed a bloody minute.

Liam gave him five.  “Little brother?” he tried, knocking on Killian’s bedroom door.

“Aye,” he answered, not moving from where he’d sat on the edge of the bed.  He was holding onto the shirt Emma had worn to sleep in.

“Are you all right?” Liam asked after opening the door.  Killian could see from his boots that he hadn’t ventured into the room.

Killian shrugged and shook his head at the same time.  He didn’t know what the hell he was feeling, how was he supposed to know if he was all right or not?  “I kissed her,” he whispered, finally raising his head.

Liam looked shocked, but then a pleased smile crossed his face.  “Good for you,” he praised.

Killian didn’t smile back.  “Is it?”

“You tell me, Killian,” Liam prodded as he sat down on the bed.  “What are you feeling?”

Killian shrugged and shook his head again.  Right now, he was having flashbacks to high school.  But this wasn’t some schoolboy crush and he hadn’t had the baggage then that he did now.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted, though from the soft noise Liam made, he already knew that.  “Milah-”

“Would want you to be _happy_ , little brother,” Liam assured.  “I may not have liked the situation, but I saw how she looked at you.  She’d never have wanted to hold you back on account of her.  She’d have wanted you to be free.  You know that.”

Killian had never thought about it like that.  “I like her,” he whispered, expecting the twinge of pain that came with the admission.  He still wasn’t sure about it.  About letting Milah go.

“So you kissed her,” Liam encouraged, fishing for details.

But Killian smirked.  “Actually, she kissed me,” he realized.  It made him feel a little better - a little less like he was betraying Milah.

“So where is she?  Don’t tell me I raised you not to treat a woman well after-”

“It wasn’t like that,” Killian muttered, his ears turning red again.  “She broke in last night.  Some of Gold’s bastards roughed her up.”

“The blood on the door,” Liam realized.  “Is she all right?  Who do we need to-”

“She won’t tell me,” Killian interrupted.  He was beginning to see red again.  “Some malarky about it being better if I didn’t know who it was.”

“Well it can’t be _that_ hard to figure out, can it?” Liam scowled, and Killian thought he was trying to suss out who was dirty in their… in his department.

Killian shook his head.  “She asked me not to. I… I have to honor that.  But the minute she tells me…”

Liam clapped him on the shoulder.  “Then come on, I’m making us breakfast.  A real English feast.  Come and help me.”

They ate like kings, the way they’d never been allowed to as boys.  They didn’t do it often, but every once in awhile it was good to remember that they’d made it - that they could choose how much and what to eat whenever they wanted.

Liam, thankfully, didn’t press him for more information about Emma and their night ‘together’.  Instead, he let Killian sort out the evidence spiraling around in his head, trying to make sense of LeGume’s death in one instance and following the breadcrumbs back to a suspect.

“Could they be connected?” Liam asked.  “Your case and Nolan’s?”

Killian blinked.  “What?”

Liam shrugged.  “Just throwing it out there,” he proposed.

“The visiting professor who was dating a co-ed and the elderly proprietress of a diner?  What could they possibly have in common?”

“You tell me,” Liam coached.

Killian shook his head, but now that the kernel was there, it wouldn’t go away.  He didn’t know what made sense about the idea, but he had to follow up on it.  “Maybe they both saw something,” he suggested.

“Okay,” Liam agreed.  “Like what?”

“Drug deal gone bad, a meeting between…” Killian trailed off.  “What if this isn’t about _them_ at all?”

“What do you mean?”

Killian nodded to himself, sorting files and paper trails in his head.  He wasn’t sure how long he was lost in the evidence, but it was long enough that Liam had cleaned up the kitchen around him and was now waving a hot mug of tea under his nose.

“Come on, Killian, we’ve got time for one last sail before Mother Nature landlocks us.”

Killian blanched.  “Umm…” he trailed off, thinking about the absolute mess in the aft cabin.

“What?” Liam stopped in his tracks.

Killian grinned disarmingly.  “There’s something you should know about the _Jolly Roger_.”

Liam was less than pleased with the state of _his_ cabin.  “I don’t know how you can work in this mess,” he complained, plucking a piece of paper off of a haphazard stack like it was covered in sludge.

Killian grimaced.  “It’s how Swan works best, or so she tells me.”

“You’re already whipped, little brother,” Liam snarked, placing the paper back down neatly on top of the stack.

“I think you mean _younger_ brother, Liam.  And I am not!”

Liam chortled, pulling Killian from the cabin and locking the door behind them.  “Whatever you say, brother.  Whatever you say.”

 


	8. Aiding and Abetting

It wasn’t all that long ago when the biggest worry on Liam’s mind was how to keep the schoolyard bullies from setting off his little brother’s temper.  There had been more than one set of foster parents who’d threatened to toss them if they were trouble; more than one set who’d taken one look at the bruises on Killian’s knuckles and sent them right back into the social worker’s car.  (There were also those homes where Liam _wished_ they would be sent back - the ones where he thought the terrified look in Killian’s eyes would haunt him to his grave.   _Failure.  Failure.  You’ve failed your brother again._ )

Years had passed and Liam had only lost Killian the one time.  Six harrowing months spent trying to get back to his brother’s side had taught him one thing: he’d do _whatever_ it took to keep his little brother safe and happy.

Anything.

And then Killian had met Milah.  It had been a sudden whirlwind of emotion from his brother that Liam had _never_ seen coming.  Yes, Killian wore his heart on his sleeve - with flashing neon arrows pointing to it - anyone could see that.  But he’d taught Killian all about honor and good form and how to be a gentleman.

Sleeping with another man’s wife, no matter how much the two of them had believed they were in love, was anything but chivalrous.  Liam couldn’t understand.  He’d thought it was infatuation, maybe a little bit of rebellion on Killian’s part - God knew they’d never had the luxury of growing through teenage defiance as youths.  But couldn’t Killian have picked someone less menacing than Liam’s superior to screw?

Evidently not.

Liam hadn’t realized how far Killian had fallen down the rabbit hole of love until the night she’d died.

* * *

_“Robin?” Liam questions when he finally pulls into his parking space.  Locksley is sitting on a bench across from the squad car, looking for all the world like it was_ his _wife who was in that mangled wreck._

_“I tried, Liam. I just... I couldn't sit in there any more. He'd regret it later if I did.”  Robin says quietly, and the defeat rolls off him in waves._

_Liam looks up quickly, seeing Killian still stuck in the backseat, red-faced and snarling out the window.  He can see his little brother’s lips moving, can just imagine what vitriol is still coming out of his mouth.  He turns away, his heart clenching at the pain Killian must be feeling after losing Milah.  If Liam ever lost_ Killian _… well, he doesn’t know how he’d manage, but knows it would be far less coherently than his brother is now._

_“Thank you for getting him here, Robin,” Liam says instead.  “I can only imagine how hard it was listening to him.  Go home.  I’ll call you when I know what we’re going to do next.”_

_Robin nods, throwing one more sad look in Killian’s direction before handing Liam the two sets of keys and turning for the nearest T station.  “When he’s calmed down, make sure he knows that I don’t blame him for anything he said.  I know he didn’t mean any of it.”_

_“I’ll make sure he knows,” Liam promises.  “But you and I both know he’s going to feel guilty about it, no matter what we tell him.”_

_“Aye, I know.”_

_Liam watches Robin until he’s out of sight before squaring his shoulders and turning to face his brother.  Killian’s words from earlier still ring in his ears, and Liam knows his little brother isn’t done yet.  Anger is Killian’s armor, and he’s not ready to shed that right now._

_Not until he knows he’s safe._

_Liam rounds the bumper of the car and pulls open the door.  “Kil-”_

_“I hate you,” his little brother snarls, pure contempt dripping from every word._

_Liam takes a step backwards, tears stinging his eyes in spite of himself, in spite of_ knowing _Killian doesn’t mean it.  What he knows and what he_ feels _are two different things entirely.  They’ve fought before, they_ are _brothers after all, but Killian has never let his temper lash out at Liam like_ this _.  He’s never sounded quite so… quite so vindictive before.  His insults have never sounded quite so much like he_ means _them._

_“Come on, Killian, let’s get you inside,” he tries.  Maybe if he just ignores it all, Killian will stop.  “Let’s get-”_

_“I wish you’d never found me after they split us up,” Killian whispers with such conviction that Liam is sure his little brother found a knife and stabbed him while he was speaking._

_He can barely breathe around the pain of it all.  “Killian,” he chokes out, not even knowing what else to say._

_Killian looks up at him then, and Liam watches the fury bleed out of his little brother’s eyes, replaced by unadulterated grief.  Liam almost wishes for the hatred to reappear.  It certainly hurts less than seeing Killian looking so bereft, so broken._

_“Liam,” he sobs, tears coming from nowhere and pouring down his cheeks.  “I… he… she’s… Liam, she’s…”_

_“I know, little brother.  I’m so sorry.”_

_He barely has any warning before Killian slumps sideways, nearly falling out of the car as he breaks down.  He only just manages to wrap his arms around Killian before his little brother is weeping into his neck, great shuddering sobs that tear Liam apart.  It takes him a few minutes to support Killian securely enough that Liam can slide them both along the leather seat so that they’re both cramped in the back of the cruiser.  Killian is nearly boneless at this point, making it difficult for Liam to reach behind him and unlock the handcuffs._

_Killian doesn’t even bother shaking the circulation back into his hands, just letting them fall to his sides.  Liam picks up first one hand and then the other, rubbing them gently until he knows Killian can feel them again._

_“Come on, Killian,” he whispers.  “Let’s get you down below.  Let’s sail away, aye?”_

_Killian nods, proving to Liam that he hears him, that he’s somewhat aware.  Liam moves to get out of the car, but he has to turn around and tug his little brother’s hand to get him to follow.  Killian stumbles over his feet when he’s standing, relying solely on Liam to guide him to the_ Jolly Roger.

_Liam will pretend for the rest of his days that watching his little brother mindlessly follow his orders doesn’t break something inside of him.  He’s going to end Gold for this, if it’s the last thing he does._

* * *

There was a bit of a grace period after Milah’s death, just enough time for Liam to find some semblance of his brother in the husk her loss had left behind.  But on the day Gold had paraded into the squad room with a grin on his face that sent chills down Liam’s spine, he knew that life as they knew it was over.  Killian had a shiny new detective’s badge and a desk right next to Liam where he could keep an eye on his little brother.  But Gold had a glint in his eye that he hadn’t worn since before Milah’s death and the whole promotion just stunk of vengeance. 

Keeping a still grieving Killian’s temper in check was a full time job and Gold made sure to keep _both_ Joneses swamped with cases that picked at Killian’s raw and oozing wounds.  Children brutally assaulted and murdered, helpless women violated before they were put out of their misery, cheating spouses destroyed by jilted lovers.

Car accidents.

Little by little, Gold had torn pieces off of whatever made Killian _Killian_.  Milah’s death had broken him, being unable to solve her murder had shattered him, and Gold’s meddling had finished him.  Sometimes, at the bottom of a bottle well hidden from Killian’s knowledge, Liam wondered if the neurotoxin invading his body had been a blessing in disguise.  At least not being in the squad room every day had given him a reprieve from watching his little brother's slow and torturous fall.

No.  No, it hadn’t been any kind of blessing.

Losing his shield had meant leaving Killian to Gold’s tender mercies with only David and Robin to watch his back.  Liam trusted both Nolan and Locksley; he _did_.  But it wasn’t the same as putting eyes on Killian himself.  It wasn’t the same as being able to step in front of a child wielding a knife, his eyes fixed on his little brother’s unprotected flank.  It wasn’t anyone else’s job to save Killian; it was Liam’s.

Even if that meant saving Killian from himself.

Even if that meant _actually_ making a deal with the devil.

* * *

What the _hell_ had she been thinking?  Emma kept asking herself the same question in the days after she’d run out of Killian’s apartment straight back to her own to lick her wounds in private.

Both the physical and the metaphorical ones.

It had felt _good_ \- being with Killian.  Kissing him.  That was the worst part of it.  All of the walls she’d built, all of the armor shed forged in the wake of Ne- of _his_ \- betrayal, and Jones had blown right through with a soft smile and a damp washcloth to soothe her hurts.  She’d almost been willing to take a chance with him.

If only Milah wasn’t hovering in the background, haunting them _both_ now.

Emma _liked_ him.  She liked how she was with him, she liked how he seemed to just _get_ her.  They understood each other; two lost souls just trying to find their place in a world that had actively sought to destroy them.

No use dwelling on it, though.  If there was one thing Emma was sure of, it was that she had no intention of getting her heart broken again.  No matter how good Killian had looked with sleep tousled hair and concern creasing his brow.

Concern for _her_.

_No!_ Emma chastised herself.   _No, it’s not worth it.  He’s in love with a ghost, which means there’s no room for_ you.

Emma sighed.  She’d cycled right back around to it again.  She needed to stop thinking about Jones; she needed him out of her head.  She needed to get back to the mindset she’d had before she ever met Killian bloody Jones.

_Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt_.

It had worked for Emma or her entire adult life; she was sure that, once this case was done, it would work for her again.  All she needed to do was put Gold behind bars and then get the hell out of Jones’s precinct.

Too bad they worked in the same city.

Emma watched Ruby putter around her apartment with a scowl on her face.  She wouldn’t give up her friend for the world, but Ruby had a sixth sense for strife and, once she smelled it, was like a wolf scenting blood.

If she thought for a _moment_ that there was something going on with one of the men involved in Emma’s investigation - never mind that she’d _kissed_ the bastard - it would be all over.

So Emma sipped her wine carefully - mindful of both the half-healed split lip and Ruby’s progress - and tried not to make any sudden moves.

When Ruby stalked to the bedroom, however, Emma knew she was living on borrowed time.

“You need to get out of here,” Ruby complained at the back of Emma’s head.  “Get dressed.”

“I _am_ dressed,” Emma snarked back.  “And I don’t want to go out.”

Ruby just shrugged, ignoring the way Emma flopped backwards dramatically onto the bed, and continuing to rifle through Emma’s closet.  “Where’s that black number I made you buy last year?  You’re wearing that.”

“Not if I don’t tell you where it is,” she mumbled under her breath, earning a glare from Ruby.  “Sometimes I swear you have better hearing than the neighbor’s dog; and Pongo can tell when I’ve opened up a steak.”

“That’s the smell, not the sound,” Ruby dismissed nonchalantly.  “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that dress.  A little makeup, the right lighting, and no one will even notice the bruises.  Or, if you’re lucky, they will and will want to play doctor.”

Emma moaned, but didn’t move.  All she’d wanted out of tonight was time to lick her wounds, but Ruby - smelling weakness - had pounced.  The cure for what ailed Emma, Ruby has assured her, was a night in one of any of the seedy bars down in Southie.  A little danger, a lot of dark and attractive strangers, a night _not_ to remember the next morning.  That was all it would take, and whatever had gotten Emma in a funk would be so far from her mind that it wouldn’t matter anymore.

Emma wasn’t about to admit to herself, much less tell Ruby, that she didn’t want tall, dark, and unknown.  She wanted a night like the one she’d had in her dreams with her own tall, dark stranger.  She wasn’t about to admit to anyone that she knew exactly who had occupied her dreams the night before - and _he_ wasn’t available.

“You promised, Emma,” Ruby was whining now, pouting as she held out the dress she’d been searching for.  “You’ve been ducking me for _ages_ , ever since you bailed on me at the last minute last month!”

She had; she knew that.  Emma had fully intended to make it up to Ruby, but one thing led to another and suddenly she was kissing Killian in his bedroom like they were teenagers sneaking around under someone’s parents’ roof.  Things had been so different yesterday in Killian’s room.  That was before she’d realized with a jolt of fear just how comfortable they were together, how comfortable _she_ was with letting him in.  Before she remembered she was competing with a ghost.

Maybe tall, dark, and anonymous _was_ exactly what Emma needed.  “All right,” she finally caved, mustering up enough energy to stand and tear the dress from Ruby’s hand.

Ruby cackled with delight, spinning in a circle before diving back into Emma’s closet to fetch her a pair of heels.  “I know _just_ the place to go!” she called out, digging out a pair of strappy heels to complete Emma’s outfit.

Those would be _perfect_.

An hour, two shots of whiskey, and three dances that could get her arrested in more reputable establishments later, and Emma was well on her way to enjoying her evening.  The man who had caught her attention wasn’t exactly her cup of tea but he would scratch the itch, so to speak.  Emma watched him saunter away from her, the sway of his hips promising some fun later.

“I didn’t think I’d find you in here, lass,” a familiar accent breathed in her ear before her latest dance partner was even out of sight.   _Killian?_  What was he doing _here_?

Emma whirled around, eyes wide, a snappy comment on her tongue when she froze.   _Not_ a familiar accent; just a similar one.  

“You’re far too uptown for the likes of this place,” annoying and cocky yet still anonymous continued to speak, but Emma’s mind was elsewhere.  He didn’t even really sound all that much like Jones, the accent definitely British but not the same.  It was far too proper, far too polished to be anything but a front.  If Emma were a betting woman, she’d lay money down that the guy had never left _New_ England, never mind come from across the pond.

“Far too self-respecting for the likes of you,” Emma muttered under her breath, looking for her latest dance partner or, better yet, Ruby to swoop in and save her.  She could take care of him herself, of course, but that would result in his nose breaking and a lot more attention from her colleagues and flashing blue lights than anyone inside the bar wanted.

 “Aww, don't be like that. I can show you a good time if you'll let me.”

Emma suppressed the urge to gag. But only just.  “If you’ll excuse me,” she tried, side stepping him intent on ferreting out Ruby’s status and, if she wasn't otherwise occupied, suggesting they find a different place to spend the evening.

Annoying and cocky stepped in her way, his hand reaching out to grab her by the elbow.  Emma raised an eyebrow, thinking, _Really?_ before brushing his fingers away insistently.

The idiot didn't let go.

Emma's nose wrinkled as she considered her options. She was just about to step into his space and either use her knee or her free fist to remind him that evolution left his manhood vulnerable when another hand crossed in front of her and gripped her assailant’s fingers.

The man grunted painfully, twisting from the shoulder to try and get away.

“I don't believe the lady is amenable to your ministrations, mate,” a _very_ familiar accent seethed from over Emma's shoulder.

_Jones._

“Where on earth did _you_ come from?” she asked incredulously, ignoring the man who was still trying to get free.

Jones just smiled charmingly.  “A moment, luv,” he promised, twisting his own arm until he could frogmarch the stranger away from her.

Emma stared after him.  The whole incident had taken less than a minute, but it felt as if time had slowed down somehow.

“Who on Earth was _that_?” Ruby yelled in her ear over the din of the music.  “And have you called dibs on him?”

A hot streak of anger coursed through Emma, surprising her.  If she’d have been forced to put a name to the feeling, she would have to reluctantly admit that it was possessiveness.  She had no right to feel that way; Jones wasn’t _hers_ , no matter what her baser urges suggested.  Emma turned to Ruby.

“He’s taken,” she managed, watching Ruby’s face fall.  It was a bit of a struggle for Emma to keep her own face neutral.  Jones _was_ taken; even if his possessor haunted him rather than courted him.

“My apologies,” Killian interrupted Ruby’s pouting and Emma’s internal struggle.  “A woman as beautiful as you deserves my full and prompt attention.”

Ruby cackled; Emma rolled her eyes.  Killian grinned.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Ruby sing-songed as she melted into the crowd.

Seemingly at odds with the smarmy charm that had just been oozing off him, Killian’s cheeks colored.  “Friend of yours?” he asked, following Ruby’s retreat with a concerned stare.

“She’ll be fine, Jones,” Emma found herself trying to put him at ease.  “Her bite is worse than her bark.”

Killian’s head whipped around at the turn of the phrase.  One corner of his mouth quirked up before he sobered.  “I hope I didn’t overstep before.  I just don’t like to see rubbish like that continue thinking they’re God’s gift to women.”

“I could have handled him,” Emma retorted on instinct.  It wasn’t that she was angry, which surprised her on its own.  She found herself wanting to ensure that, after showing up on his doorstep bruised and bloody, he knew that she was capable of looking after herself.

To her surprise - and her pleasure - Jones laughed heartily.  “Of that, luv, I have no doubt.”

Emma smiled softly in spite of herself.  The affirmation he’d given so easily had been all too rare in her life.  She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.  “What are you even doing here?” she deflected instead.

Killian shrugged.  “No one but the bouncer and the owner know me here.  At least, not until you showed up.  What are _you_ doing here?” he parrotted back to her.

It was Emma’s turn to blush, her cheeks heating up as she looked around.  Anywhere, anything, anyone who could tear her attention away from answering Jones.  Suddenly, her plan to take someone up on a one night stand didn’t seem quite so appealing.

“Ah,” he replied, suddenly looking just a little too understanding for Emma’s liking.  “I admit, my company the other morning wasn’t-”

“No!” Emma shouted without thinking.  She glare at the two women who had turned their heads at her exclamation before lowering her voice.  “No, it’s not that.  Ruby begged me to come; to pay her back for canceling on her the other night.”

“Oh,” he replied, looking relieved - and a little stunned.  “I mean, I’ve no right to judge if you-”

Emma cut him off with a shake of her head and a hand on his arm.  “Buy me a drink, Jones?”

His smile was more genuine this time as he jutted out an elbow for her to take.  Emma slipped her hand into the crook and startled a little when he settled his hand over hers.

The first man Emma had danced with that night stepped into view but shied away again with one baleful look.

“Careful, Jones,” Emma cautioned sardonically.  “You’re going to get a reputation.”

Killian huffed out a laugh.  “I’m just one more face in the crowd here, luv.  No one cares as long as someone doesn’t have to call… well, _us_.”

Emma nodded her agreement while looking around at the other patrons.  Her brain automatically started cataloguing threat levels as they ducked and dodged their way towards the bar.

“Starkey!” Killian shouted over the commotion from the latest Bruins’ goal to play on the ancient television mounted on the wall.

To Emma’s surprise, the bartender turned his head immediately, putting down the glass he was wiping with a dingy towel and crossing the small distance behind the bar with a smile on his face.

“How are ya, Cap?” Starkey asked, reaching out his hand for Killian to shake.

_Cap_? Emma thought in confusion.  There was a story there, she was sure of it.  And, what was more, it was a tale she wanted to know.  Every time she turned around, Emma realized she wanted to know _more_ about Killian.

Apparently tonight was going to be full of surprises.

“Still vertical, mate,” Killian answered Starkey’s question before firing off one of his own.  “Any trouble tonight?”

Starkey shook his head.  “No more than usual.  Jukes is out with a stomach flu, so I got a new guy on the door.  He’s on top of it.”

“Aye, I didn’t recognize him when I came in, but I figured Bill was just taking a break in the back.  Don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a day off.”  Killian turned to Emma.  “What’ll it be, Swan?”

Emma ordered, tuning out the rest of the conversation as she spied the back of Ruby’s head in the crowd.  The rest of her was very much wrapped up in a woman as they moved in sync to the music.

“Did you hear me, luv?”  Killian’s voice spoke directly in her ear, making Emma jump.

She shook her head in silent apology, getting Ruby’s attention just long enough to get a thumbs up behind the woman’s back.  Emma would be on her own getting home tonight.

That settled, she turned her attention back to Killian.  “What did you say?”

Killian leaned close enough that she could smell the cologne he was wearing.  His breath wafted over her cheek as he spoke.  “I asked if you wanted to go somewhere a little more...” he trailed off and looked around, “more fun.”

Emma looked around as well, considering her options.  Here was safe, so to speak.  She had made the decision to come here; here she was in control.  But, she realized a moment later, Killian was leaving her in control even in his asking.  It was this that made her agree more than the enticement of getting out of the seedy bar.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed, taking her empty glass and sliding it down the bar to where Starkey caught it expertly.

It was only then that Emma realized Killian hadn’t had a glass of his own in his hands.  She felt guilty for a moment before shaking it off.  If Jones chose to come to a bar even when he didn’t drink, it hadn’t had anything to do with her.  She hadn’t even known he was going to be here.

Killian led her down the street with a pronounced sway to his steps that she knew didn’t belong there.  “Killian?” she questioned quietly, stepping closer to his side and wrapping her arm around him - just in case.  God, he was warm.  Emma resisted the urge to snuggle into his side.

He didn’t answer her for a few more steps, stumbling further into her space and ducking his head down as if he were nuzzling into her neck.  She felt him turn to look behind her, answering her unspoken question.

Killian thought they were being followed.

Emma slowed her pace, pulling him in front of her so that her chest was nearly brushing his own.  His hands fell to her hips as if he’d been comfortable doing that for years.

_God, this feels nice_ , she thought, swaying even further into Killian and trying to bite back a sigh as he wrapped her more securely in his embrace.

They stood like that for a few moments, Emma’s head resting under Killian’s chin as he watched behind them.  A small voice in the back of her head warned her that this was just a front; she shouldn’t get used to this.

Feeling safe.

“We’re all clear,” Killian mumbled a few minutes later, loosening his arms.  “I thought I saw that weasel Isaac as we were leaving, but there’s no one behind us but bums and rats.”

Emma realized he expected her to step back, to let him go, to continue on to whatever destination he had planned for them.

Emma didn’t want to do what was expected of her anymore.

“Sw-”

Without giving herself a moment to overthink it, Emma stood on her tiptoes and dragged him down to her by the lapels of his jacket.  He froze for a moment, just like last time, before stepping so close that he erased any space between them.  Killian plunged the fingers of one hand deep into the loose curls falling over her back.  The other settled at the small of her back, pressing insistently until she canted her hips into his.  His lips slanted over hers, kissing once, twice, three times before demanding entrance.

He tasted of peppermint.  It was the foremost thought in Emma’s brain as they continued to explore each other in that dirty back alley in that part of the city where no one would care who they were or what this all meant.

Emma didn’t really care what this all meant, either.  Not when Killian’s fingers tangled gently in her hair and tugged her to a different angle.

She kind of liked how he took con-

The shattering of a bottle falling to pavement followed by a loud, drunken curse broke them apart.  They were both breathing heavily as Emma looked up.  She found herself unable - and unwilling - to back away from him.  Not just now.

“Please don’t run,” Killian mumbled under his breath.  Emma wasn’t sure she’d have heard him if she’d been even one step further away.  She _was_ sure that he hadn’t intended for his plea to reach her ears if the chagrined look on his face was any indication.

Emma tightened her grip on the hair at the nape of Killian’s neck before sliding her hand down his arm and interlocking their fingers.  She wasn’t very good with words.  But this?  She wanted this.

Killian’s answering smile and the tightening of his fingers around hers told her that he understood.

“You promised me a fun time, Jones,” she said with a coy smile.

 A fun time in Killian’s mind, apparently, was another bar.  Emma wrinkled her nose at him in confusion, stopping outside the door.

“But,” she tried to understand, “you don’t drink.”

Killian shrugged, looking a little lost.  “There’s more to this place than good whiskey, Swan,” was his only answer.

Emma was just buzzed enough that it made perfect sense.  She gestured at the door when Killian didn’t continue - he just kept watching her.  She’d come to recognize the look on his face. 

“Did you used to bring Milah here?” she questioned, torn between wanting to be right - to prove that she knew him that well - and not wanting to know the answer.

But Killian surprised her, shaking his head.  “She brought me.”

_Oh._

“God, she loved the energy in here, the _life_ ,” he continued.  “I’m sorry, luv, I didn’t think…”

“Let’s just go in,” Emma urged, not wanting to be haunted by Milah’s ghost any longer.  “‘The night is young’, and all that jazz.”

The spark returned to Killian’s eyes as his hand settled back on the small of her back.  He led her forward a few steps before opening the heavy wooden door and ushering her inside.

He was right.  Emma could feel the atmosphere of the place shoot through her.  The air was cool despite the press of bodies in the small space.  Irish music played over the speakers, the scratchiness suggesting vinyl records rather than mp3’s.  Though she’d never been overseas, Emma felt like she’d stepped through a portal to a small pub on Ireland’s shores.

“Killian!” a heavily accented voice shouted from somewhere off to their left and Jones grinned.

“Come on, luv, I want to introduce you to someone.”  He tugged her hand insistently, navigating the crowd with well practiced ease.  As they moved, people patted Killian on the back or called out his name in greeting.  It was abundantly clear that he wasn’t just another invisible face in the crowd here.

“Still with me, Swan?” he asked when they finally reached a booth tucked away in a corner.

“Aye, mate,” she responded, mimicking his accent.

_Horribly_ if the chorus of groans and snickers from all around them was any indication.

“Relax, gents; the lady is with me.”

If anyone other than Killian had said it, Emma’s hackles would have bristled.  Instead, she smiled genially and leaned into his side.  “Sorry,” she mumbled, relaxing when he laughed quietly.

“Just don’t do that again,” he chastised good-naturedly.  “Please, for the love of God, don’t do that again.”

Emma nodded.

The night went by in a blur, drinks and laughter flowing as easily as the conversation and the dancing.  Emma impressed the group of Killian’s friends with her tolerance.  But that was nothing compared to how impressed she was when Killian was dragged over to what passed for a stage and pressed into service with a guitar and a microphone.

Damn, he could sing.

Emma stood off to the side, transfixed, as she sipped some of the best whiskey she’d ever tasted.  She was half convinced that she was going to wake up any minute, the stale taste of alcohol mixed with the cotton of a hangover and some stranger’s arm draped suffocatingly over her hip.

If this was a dream, it was a good one.

_You can lose your path but still find your way home_

_Just make it through_

Emma watched as Killian finished singing, laying the guitar down before catching her eye.  The tips of his ears turned pink as he glanced away, distracted for a moment by one of his friends guffawing loudly.

Emma smiled goofily, the whiskey lowering her inhibitions enough to loosen the chainmail.  His shoulders dropped, the tension draining from him as she watched.

“Impressed, luv?” he asked, his accent deep and pitched low when he finally was let off the stage.

Emma nodded, but contradicted herself when she replied flippantly with, “You wish.”

Killian shrugged in answer, not fooled by the ruse.  He glanced down at his watch.  “Bloody hell, I didn’t realize how late it was.  Shall I escort you home?”

Emma nodded, but then shook her head.  “I don’t wanna.”

It was Killian’s turn to smile goofily.  “Come on,” was all he said, taking her by the hand.

Emma followed, the sounds of Irish music wafting over her as one of Killian’s friends - she’d forgotten his name already - danced a drunken jig past them.  She giggled in spite of herself, drawing an affronted look from the dancer and a fondly exasperated one from Killian.  She grinned apologetically at them both, then leaned to whisper in Jones’s ear.

“No one here is related to Whitey Bulger, right?”

Killian ushered her out swiftly, but never answered her.

* * *

There was hair in his face.  It was in his mouth, tickling his nose, generally just… everywhere.  Every time he breathed in, it felt like he was swallowing more of it.   _Bloody hell_ , he thought irritatedly, reaching up to brush the offending strands out of the way.

Someone had hold of his hand.

Killian wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner - hair was usually attached to a person.  In this case, hair this long was likely attached to a woman.  Someone was in his bed.

He opened his eyes just as Emma rolled over, tucking herself under his chin and freeing most of his face from her hair.  It smelled of whiskey and cinnamon, the hint of spice enough to pull him from the last vestiges of sleep.  Emma was here.  In… in _her_ bed, it seemed, and he…

Killian’s eyes widened.   _He_ was not wearing a stitch of clothing, only a sheet draped dangerously low over his hips.  Bits of the evening started coming back to him as he woke fully.  The bar he’d happened to drop by when the apartment proved too quiet for him with Liam’s absence.  Emma showing up out of nowhere; the look on her face promising bloodshed if the handsy git accosting her didn’t look elsewhere soon.  Toodles’ bar, dancing and a bit of home blaring through the speakers.  A lot of cajoling and a guitar in his hands and Emma’s soft smile.  Driving her home and, “Wanna come in for a bit?” and “I want this, I promise.”

_Bloody hell_ , he thought again, remembering the taste of whiskey on Emma’s lips and the way she’d giggled when he’d traced nonsensical patterns on her bare skin.  He knew how easily the liquor flowed at Finnegan’s Tavern.  Knew that any friend of his would be well taken care of by the bartender.

Dread filled Killian’s stomach, making him queasy.  He should’ve gone home last night, shouldn’t have taken Emma up on her offer of coffee before he headed out.  Killian prided himself on being the gentleman Liam had raised him to be; he wasn’t-

Emma moaned, rolling herself away from him entirely and curling in on herself with her arms wrapped around her stomach.  Killian held his breath, but she didn’t wake.

_Bloody hell_.

All Killian could see was the naked expanse of her back, the line of her spine disappearing under the covers.  She was beautiful.  The light filtering through a break in the curtains tangled in her hair and gave it a golden shine.  Emma moaned again, her head tossing on the pillow and her brow furrowing in pain.

Killian slipped out of bed, the hardwood floors cold beneath his feet.  He spied his jeans draped over her bureau, his detective’s shield peeking out from one pocket.  As much as he’d love to stay and either explore this new facet of their relationship or apologize if he’d truly stepped in it, Killian had to get home and get changed.  He had a court appearance scheduled to testify in an old case that had finally gone to trial.

Slinging his jeans over his hips but leaving them unbuttoned, Killian padded across the room to the bathroom.  There he found a bottle of Tylenol and a glass that was still half filled with water.  Wrinkling his nose a bit, Killian dumped and refilled it and then palmed a few pills for Emma.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he whispered when he set down the glass on her bedside table.  Emma slept on as he crouched down next to the bed to watch her mumble unintelligibly.  He reached out gently to brush a stray lock of hair back behind Emma’s ear.  She whined in annoyance and cracked one eye open before muttering grumpily and falling back to sleep.

Killian smiled, the feeling almost foreign as his lips quirked upwards.  He couldn’t remember the last he’d felt like this.

Happy.

“I’ll see you later, luv,” he whispered before standing and slipping out the door.

He found his shirt in the hallway - almost all the buttons still fastened - and tugged it over his head.  Then he tucked the shirttails into his pants and finally thumbed the button of his jeans through its buttonhole.  His belt was… where was his belt?  Emma had yanked it through the loops violently before tossing it…

There.  Behind the couch.

Finally dressed a few minutes later, Killian rose from sliding on his boots to survey the apartment.  There hadn’t really been time last night to take it all in, and there wasn’t really enough time now.  But one thing was abundantly clear - Emma’s apartment was as austere as his would be if not for Liam’s interference.  There were very few pictures on the walls, no knick knacks or mementos strewn about.  The only thing that looked truly personal was a handcrafted blanket thrown over the arm of the recliner with Emma’s name woven into it with purple ribbon.

Killian was loathe to leave like this, but he was already going to be late and he didn’t fancy getting on Regina’s bad side if he were late to her boss’s trial.

He’d have to explain it to Emma later.

Shutting the door to her apartment behind him, Killian raced out of the building and down the block to his car.  He started muttering to the traffic gods before he even got the door open, begging them to be on his side - just this once.

They weren’t.

Regina - and by nature of their relationship, Robin - would never let him live this down.  Killian sighed and headed inside the courthouse to face the music.

 


	9. Evidence Tampering

Emma was avoiding him.  Killian didn’t know much, but he knew that.  It didn’t help that Nottingham’s arrest had thrown the office into chaos - outrage and confusion and outright derision towards Swan.  It was all Emma’s fault, they had decided, that they had to work harder and longer to make up for Keith’s absence.  Never mind the fact that he’d threatened one of their ranks - they despised Nottingham for that, to be sure - but he wasn’t there for them to gripe over.

Swan was.

At least, the papers on her desk moved and occasionally he saw her backpack there.  But Swan, herself?  It was like she was a ghost.  Killian sighed.  He couldn’t fix it if she wouldn’t let him.  Sometime while he worked in the past few days, she had even cleaned up her files from the _Jolly Roger_.  The cabin looked barren without all her detritus spread across every flat surface.

He missed the clutter.

He’d clearly made a monumental mistake by giving in to her that night.  He should have known better.  He _did_ know better.  And yet, he’d let desire overrule his judgement - the little voice in his head that always sounded suspiciously like Liam - and had fallen into bed with her.

Emma deserved better.  Better than a one night stand when she’d been drinking most of the evening.  Better than a romp in the sheets and an empty bed to wake up to.

Better than the broken shell of a man that he’d become.

Killian rearranged the pencils on his desk for the fourteenth time that morning.  Robin had the morning off; Roland had a doctor’s appointment and Regina was in court.  That left Killian on his own, filing paperwork and rereading the crime scene reports from the LeGume murder site.

Not that he thought he’d find anything new.

Too many prints and not enough time before the tide swallowed the evidence.  Too much extraneous information and not enough leads.  The only thing that truly stuck out to Killian was that Belle had been involved with Gold before she’d fallen in with Gaston.

Maybe it was his own biases, but he’d started looking into Gold’s whereabouts the night before Gaston had shown up dead under the pier.  If Gold hadn’t gotten caught by now for _Milah’s_ murder, it was unlikely that he’d be careless enough to be unaccounted for during the suspected time of death for LeGume.

Still, Killian searched.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Nolan’s voice in Killian’s ear made him jump.  Half of the pencils clattered to the floor and rolled under the desk.

“Bloody hell!” Killian cursed, resisting the urge to whirl around with his fists in the air.  “Don’t sneak up on a man like that!”

David took two steps back, his hands raised in supplication.  Killian’s cheeks grew hot when he realized Henry and several other officers were now staring at them.

“I called your name three times, Jones,” David justified.  “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing important,” Killian hedged, closing out of the file before leaning over to pick up his pencils.

Mills knelt down next to Killian’s chair to help.  “Did anything Detective Swan and I found help?” he asked.

Killian just blinked.  “Excuse me?” he tried, adopting as innocent an air as he could.  No one was supposed to know.  Swan would kill him if even the _rookie_ had figured out they were working together.

“I just thought…” Henry began, trailing off as he stood to study his shoes.  “I mean, you want to put Gold in jail for… well, you want to put him in jail.  I thought you might have asked her if you could help.”

Killian tried not to let the whoosh of air race out of his lungs too audibly.  If the strange look David gave him was any indication, he wasn’t entirely successful.  “Just trying to stay out of IA’s way, Rook,” he said to cover his bases.

“Oh.”  Henry looked crestfallen.  “She’s really nice.”

Killian wasn’t sure that _nice_ was exactly the right characterization of Emma.  Fiery, stubborn, determined; sure.  But nice?  People who grew up like they had didn’t get the luxury of being nice.

Still, no need to disillusion the kid even more than working in Homicide was already doing to him.

“Aye, mate, I’m sure she is.”

If only she’d bloody well stop ignoring him.

A flash of blonde hair out of the corner of Killian’s eye drew his attention away from Henry.  He was just able to make out Swan’s profile as she slid out from the stairway and into the conference room.

Perfect.

Emma would have no choice but to talk to him - or at least admit that she was actively avoiding him.  But how to ditch Mills and Nolan before she escaped?

Killian looked around for a moment, searching for any plausible reason to get into the conference room.  There were old files that needed to be put away, those might work. He stepped towards them before sliding just a bit as his foot landed on one of the pencils he’d dropped.

“You’re looking a little light on your feet, Detective,” Isaac’s nasally voice cut through the squad room and Killian’s eye roll matched Henry’s.  “We don’t need to pull out the breathalyzer again, do we?”

Killian saw red, turning on his heel to scowl at the little man even as the memories threatened to overtake him.  It hadn’t been nearly long enough to forget Heller’s part in keeping Killian from saying goodbye to Milah, one last time.

* * *

_“Get out of my way,” Killian growls at Isaac, stepping menacingly into the little weasel’s space.  Usually it’s enough to cow the man into scurrying off somewhere, but not this time._

_Not with an army of officers at his back._

_“I don’t think so, Killian,” the little man snarls.  “You’re not going in there.”_

Not going in?  Like hell I’m not, _he thinks furiously.  “You can’t stop me.  The church is a public-”_

_“Afraid I can’t let you disrupt the services, Officer.  Not with the amount of liquor you’ve obviously imbibed today.”_

_Killian blinks.  He hasn’t touched a bloody drop of rum since that night.  God knows, he’s wanted to.  Between imagining Milah’s last moments every time he closes his eyes and replaying all of the horrible things he said to Liam and Robin that night, he’s nearly caved a hundred times.  There are several bottles of liquor in the apartment that he’s had Liam hide from him just in case.  He can’t; he simply can’t allow himself the luxury of forgetting, just for a little while, about how much pain he’s caused.  He doesn’t deserve the relief._

_But that’s a battle for another day.  Today, Isaac is still talking and his cronies are still blocking Killian’s way into the church.  He hadn’t even bothered trying to get into the wake, knew that Gold would have stopped him there, but he’d thought…_

_He’d thought that he could just blend in with the crowd or slink into the back of the church and hope that he wasn’t struck by lightning for treading on hallowed ground.  God knows his thoughts on faith and hope have soured lately._

_“Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  Way!” he orders, punctuating each word with a step forward, forcing Isaac to backpedal despite the superiority he’s trying desperately to cling to.  Killian is bigger, stronger, and far more determined to-_

_He doesn’t understand what’s happened, how he’s ended up sprawled against the brick wall, his shirt soaked with rum and a bum who seemingly came out of nowhere flailing on the ground in front of him._

_“Like_ I _said, Officer Jones,” Isaac speaks up as if the homeless man still rolling about isn’t even there, “with your blood alcohol level being so high, I’m afraid we don’t have any choice but to take you downtown.”_

_Killian blinks.  “I’m not drunk,” he tries, though he’s sure by now that it’s not going to do any good.  Goddamnit, he should have just listened to Liam and stayed home.  He’d spent the morning vacillating between coming to the funeral or giving in and getting blackout drunk in the apartment._

_Now, it seems, he isn’t going to get to do either of those things._

_Isaac waves a breathalyzer test in front of him, the numbers on it already showing 0.14.  Killian doesn’t want to think about who the sniveling little man found to register that for him.  “The evidence shows that you are, Jones.  Now are you going to come quietly, or do we need to make a scene?”_

_He won’t give Isaac - or Gold, he’s sure the bloody crocodile is watching somehow - the pleasure.  Killian stands straight as Nottingham brandishes a pair of handcuffs, holding his head up high as he hides the wince when the metal closes too tightly around his wrists.  There are still bruises and abrasions there from the other night when Robin had cuffed him._

_It hurts, being led away from Milah - from the last time that they’ll be on the same side of the dirt.  Not the vice-like grip Heller’s gorillas have around his biceps, nor the chafe of metal.  Every step he takes away from Milah, it feels like someone is twisting a knife in his gut.  He just wants to say goodbye.  Is there no one in the world who will allow him a bloody minute to tell Milah goodbye?  To thank her for loving him? To apologize for the simple fact that he wasn’t strong enough to grant her freedom from Gold?  To beg her forgiveness because he was too selfish to let her go?_

_No, it appears.  No one will grant him a bloody moment to grieve today.  Killian bears the booking process with facetious grace, ignoring the smirks from Isaac and his buddies and pretending he doesn’t see the rest of the precinct turning their sympathetic stares away when he makes eye contact._

_“Yes, yes, Jones,” Isaac simpers when Killian demands a blood test for the third time.  “I hear you, we’ll get you a blood draw just as soon as we can.”_

_Killian knows no one is coming._

_He’s thankful, at least, that no one else seems to be occupying the drunk tank at 11 in the morning.  After he’s uncuffed and left to his own devices behind bars, Killian finds the cleanest corner he can and sinks down until he’s huddled against the walls.  He tries to force his mind to think of nothing important.  He recites the Miranda Rights in English, Spanish, and - because he thought it was a good idea at the time - in Greek.  He lists the fifty states and their capitals._

_He does whatever he can_ not _to think about Milah being lowered into the ground and trapped forever._

_“Oh, little brother,” Liam mutters sadly some time later.  “No one will blame you for this.”_

_Killian looks up sharply, hurt beyond what he thought his heart could take to hear the gentle understanding in Liam’s voice._

_“I’m not drunk,” he seethes, just about done with_ everything _today._

_Liam nods easily, unlocking the cell and slipping inside.  He sinks down next to Killian and is quiet.  Killian knows what he must think, knows how it looks.  He’s shaking in the corner of the drunk tank, smelling like the inside of a distillery._

_Killian drops his head back against the wall with an audible thunk, clenching his fists and closing his eyes to shut out the world.  He’s not even angry anymore.  What good is it going to do him, what good will it do Milah, now?  He just wants to go home.  He can’t deal with this right now.  Not here._

_“Come on, little brother,” Liam says sometime later.  There’s a hint of anger in his voice and Killian won’t be able to handle it if his brother is angry with him for this.  “I can’t deal with Isaac anymore; I don’t know how you’ve put up with his whining this long.”_

Oh, of course.

_Killian doesn’t question it.  If there’s one thing he knows beyond everything else, it’s that he’ll follow Liam wherever he leads.  And if he’s leading them out of the station and_ anywhere _else, Killian is fine with that._

* * *

“Go get your head on straight, Jones,” David’s hushed voice broke into the memory, dragging Killian back to the present where Isaac still smirked proudly over Nolan’s shoulder.  “I’ll take care of him.”

Killian startled, eyes wide as he met David’s.

“Go,” Nolan commanded again.

Killian’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as he turned tail and started to weave through the desks.  He needed to be better than that; he couldn’t let Isaac needle him like that anymore.  It was only-

Emma.  He’d nearly forgotten he’d been looking for an excuse to sneak into the conference room.  As much as it rankled to be running from Heller, it was the perfect place to slink off to lick his wounds without arousing suspicion.  And if Emma happened to still be in the room when he got there, all the better.  The door creaked as it opened, making Killian wince as the other person in the room jumped.

Emma glared as she whirled around, one fist and one pencil ready to strike.

“They say the pen is mightier than the sword, Swan, but I’m not entirely sure this is what they meant.”  The sarcastic comment fell from his lips faster than he could sensor it.  This wasn’t the time, nor the place for that.  He needed to-

“What are you even doing here?” Emma hissed, dropping her fists and turning away from him.

Killian looked away from her turned back.  He’d been prepared to confront her, to apologize, to do _anything_ to at least get her to talk to him.  But now he was barely keeping his own head on straight, he wasn’t sure he could handle it if she got defensive with him.  

“Swan, are you avoiding me?”  Straight to the point then.  Apparently his brain and his mouth were on two different wavelengths.

Emma turned around, looking startled.  “I'm not avoiding you, I'm just… dealing with stuff.  We have a situation right now.  If I can’t find something to tie Gold to Nottingham, I’m done.”

“There’s always a situation,” Killian shrugged, gesturing out to the squad room and the bustle going on behind the window.  “Perhaps you should consider living your life during them, otherwise, you might miss it.”

This wasn’t going the way he wanted it to go.  He wanted to know what had happened that night.  Or rather, the morning after.  He wanted to know if she blamed him, if she hated him, if she was embarrassed.

He wanted to know everything about her.  “Emma, I’m-”

“Jones, come on!  We’ve got another murder.”  Nolan’s voice interrupted him and there wasn’t anything Killian could do about it.  Not if the look in Emma’s eyes - concern and wariness mixed with the start David had given them both.

Nodding his head to Nolan, Killian turned away from Emma without another word.

* * *

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him go.  Killian was right - no matter how much she denied it to his face - she was avoiding him.  How could she face him after practically throwing herself at him that night?  She’d made a fool of herself and she was only grateful that he’d slipped out the next morning before the awkwardness could take hold.

She needed to get out of his life before she screwed it up even more for him.  So she’d cleaned up the _Jolly Roger_ and she’d tried her best to work from home or at odd hours - she’d been working in the precinct long enough to recognize Jones’s schedule and made sure to come in when he wouldn’t be there.

But she’d spilled wine all over a copy of Nottingham’s arrest record the night before and needed to print out another.  Emma had hoped to duck into the conference room for just a moment to use the old copier hidden in the corner and be back out before Jones could see her.

She hadn’t counted on the age of the printer working against her.

The paper had jammed and the toner had needed a good shake before she could even start to print.  She’d only just managed to glare the machine into compliance when the door behind her creaked open, startling her.  She knew who it would be before she’d even fully turned around.

God, he looked awful.  There was a haunted look to his features that made Emma want to cross the room and hug him.  She couldn’t.  Not here and certainly not after the idiotic way she’d acted around him the other night.  Emma wondered if her mistake had sicced Milah’s ghost into Killian’s memories and that was why he looked so haggard.

So lost.

He’d accused her of avoiding him and she’d lied.  She needed to apologize and she wasn’t ready for that.  Wasn’t ready to know either way if he’d be able to forgive her or if he’d scorn her.

The traitorous part of her mind that screamed about how she was a lost girl who had never mattered and never would reminded her loudly that he had left her that morning.  Surely, if he were going to forgive her, then he would have stayed.

Right?

Emma sighed in relief as one of Killian’s partners all but dragged him out the door.  Cowardly it may be, but she’d rather not know than be reminded of her serious lack of judgement.

Especially since she was pretty sure that she’d do it all over again, if she had the opportunity.

But that was neither here nor there and, while she would never condone cold-blooded murder, Emma was almost thankful for whatever bastard had offed Jones’s newest vic.  Before he could backtrack or ‘forget’ something, Emma snatched up Nottingham’s file and made a beeline for the door.

She counted herself lucky that she made it back to the Bug unaccosted.

She was a goddamn coward and she knew it.  Killian deserved better than that.  He deserved someone who could love him in a way that she wasn’t sure she was capable of.  He needed someone who wouldn’t run for the safety of her childhood security blanket and a night’s binge of bad Netflix and Pinot.

He deserved someone who could man up and talk to him when she’d screwed up.

Emma dropped her head back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.  She had to talk to him.  He definitely deserved that. 

**_I need to talk to you.  Please._ **

Emma stared at the text message on her lock screen, refusing to unlock it and ‘read’ it.  It sounded promising, but Emma had been burned before.  Still, no one wins the lottery without playing, and the conversation Killian wanted to have had to happen sooner or later.

**_Tonight.  Your ‘boat’._ **

Emma didn’t know what possessed her to do it.  She didn’t know if they were in a place right now where banter would be appreciated.  But she’d hit send before she’d really thought about it, and now it was too late.

  
Read  
…  
  


_Oh God._

Emma held her breath, caught between throwing the phone into the passenger wheel well and jamming the key in the ignition to drive across the state and waiting for his response.

**_I won’t tell the Jolly you insulted her, luv._ **

Emma blinked.  And blinked again.  She hadn’t expected that.  Luv.  She hadn’t… when he’d first started calling her that, Emma had noticed but wasn’t sure if she liked it.  Now, when she thought she might lose it?

Just seeing it settled her in a way that nothing had quite managed before.

**_I’ll see you tonight. :)_ **

The little smiley on his second text made her laugh.  Killian didn’t strike her as the emoji type.  She almost always pictured him hunt and pecking on an old Nokia phone, scowling the whole time.

Clearly, at least some of her aspersions were wrong about him.

Emma sighed.  Whatever her feelings for Jones were, she had a job to do and she couldn’t do it sitting here.  With a sigh, she started the Bug and pulled out into Boston traffic, already cursing under her breath as she went.  It took her nearly an hour to make it back to her apartment.

The silence of her living room was a blessing after all the blaring horns and blasting music.  There were _definitely_ benefits to living in the suburbs, but Emma never could bring herself to give up the busyness of the city.  She nearly collapsed onto the sofa and let her head thunk back against the worn cushions.  Nottingham’s file was spread in front of her, a timeline of seedy cases and questionable police work, but nothing overtly corrupt until this latest incident.  Threatening Jones was clearly an anomaly, but Emma didn’t know how to prove it.

Not as long as Nottingham was willing to trade his freedom for Gold’s favor.

Emma had gone through the evidence again, her blood boiling when she reread the copy of the note he’d skewered on Jones’s car.  It wasn’t overt, but it didn’t have to be.

Before she had a chance to imagine what she’d do if she had five minutes alone with Nottingham, her phone rang.

“Emma Swan,” she answered with a sigh, frustration leaking into every word.

“Detective Swan,” a voice on the other end of the line questioned and Emma perked up.  She answered to the affirmative and was asked to come to Cedar Junction.  The maximum security prison was where Nottingham had been sentenced to.  Some time in the facility must have loosened his tongue a bit.

“I’ll be right down,” she told the receptionist, hiding her distaste.  The last thing she wanted to do was drive down to Walpole at this time of afternoon.  Between the trip itself, traffic, and actually sitting down to talk with Nottingham, she didn’t know _what_ time she’d be able to get back to the _Jolly Roger_.

Killian would have to wait.

**_Something came up. Have to go to Walpole. Raincheck?_ **

Emma didn’t want to waste time waiting for him to respond - he was probably on scene and busy.  

And yet.

Emma found herself stalling, rechecking that she had her wallet in her purse, double checking that her EZ pass was attached to the windshield, fiddling with the radio before she finally pulled out onto the street.

Still nothing.

_You’re not some lovestruck teenager, Emma,_ she thought angrily, _get it together!_

Emma threw the phone onto the seat beside her and took off down the street, determined to get to the prison without worrying about if Jones was angry or not.

She didn’t check her texts until she got into the parking lot.

**_I’ll be here when you get back._ **

Well, then.  Guess that answered that.

Emma stood outside the visitors’ entrance to the prison, still not really understanding why she’d come.  Why she hadn’t told Killian where she was going.  What she hoped to accomplish by seeing Nottingham.  Unless he had information against Gold, there wasn’t really anything she needed from him and, if history told her anything, he would be tighter than a fancy clam with a pearl inside when it came to the slimy bastard she was trying to put away.

With a sigh, Emma opened the door and showed her badge to the first officer she came across.  “Emma Swan to see Keith Nottingham,” she told him, going through the procedures to gain entrance with little fanfare.

He looked God awful.

Nottingham’s face was bruised and battered, deep circles under his eyes that were some combination of swelling, bruising, and a clear lack of sleep.  One arm was in a cast and the other hugged his torso tightly.  Emma knew that stance - someone had broken his ribs.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked succinctly.  No matter what he looked like, this man had threatened Killian and had likely tampered with his evidence in the LeGume case.  As far as she was concerned, if he wanted to take the fall for Gold, then what he looked like was his own consequence.

Nottingham nodded, limping away from the guard who had escorted him to the interrogation room.  “I need help,” he said without preamble.

“I can see that,” Emma snarked, sitting back in her chair with crossed arms.  “What do you want me to do about it?”

Nottingham gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.  “What do I want’...?  You _put_ me here!  I’m going to get killed if you don’t get me out of here!”

Emma just shrugged, making a show of reaching above her head to stretch.  “I offered you the chance to help me before and you didn’t take it.  You put yourself here; not me.”

Nottingham’s face dropped, all the bravado leaching out of him.  “Please, he begged, his eyes getting watery as his voice cracked.  

Emma resisted the urge to smirk.  “I thought Gold took care of his own.  I thought you were all set with going down for threatening Jones?” she asked sardonically.

Nottingham just kept shaking his head.  “It’s not _Gold_ I’m worried about,” he whispered, looking around wildly like the Devil, himself, might pop out of thin air.

“Who are you worried about then?” Emma asked, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance even as her brain started spinning off on a hundred different tangents.

“You have to protect me,” he begged again, almost inaudible.  He was shaking now.  “He doesn’t leave loose ends.”

“And you didn’t know that a month ago?” she asked hotly.  “I’m not here to be jerked around.  You have to give me _something_.”

“You have to protect me.  I thought I was just small potatoes, you know?  I didn’t even think he knew who I _was_ , nevermind that he would send someone after me.  You have to help me!”

“Then give me something.  I’ll have you moved to solitary while I check it out.  Give me anything actionable.”

Nottingham glared now, rising to his feet and sitting back down just as quickly when the guard took a step forward.  “I’m a _cop_!  I should have been in solitary already!”

Emma shrugged.  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have threatened another police officer,” she admonished.

Nottingham deflated.  “I just did what I was told,” was all he’d say.

“By _who_?” she tried again.

Nottingham wouldn’t answer, just stared at the cast on his wrist.  Emma sat silently for a moment before sighing dramatically and standing up.  The guard moved forward at her signal to manhandle Nottingham back to his feet.

“No!  No, wait!” he cried, trying to twist out of the guard’s grip as Emma turned to leave.  “Wait!”

“You gonna give me something?  Because you can bet I’m not coming back down here again just to waste my time.”  Emma didn’t stop moving until she’d gotten to the door.  She paused for only a moment with her hand on the doorknob.

“Tell Jones to take a closer look at the tape,” Nottingham muttered.  “Tell him to look again.”

“What’s he going to find?” Emma didn’t think she had to ask _what_ tape.

“Heller is good with video; he can make anything look legitimate.  But he isn’t perfect.  Something has to be different.  Something has to be there that doesn’t belong.”

Emma turned to face him.  “If I find you’ve made me open up a cold case for your own sick satisfaction, I’ll see that you rot in gen pop.  You’ll be fodder for every cop hater in this place.”

Nottingham shook in fear.  “It’s there; I promise.  I don’t know _what_ it is, but I brought the tapes to him myself.  I know he altered the story that night.”

“We’ll see,” Emma threatened.  “Sit tight here and I’ll get you transferred.”

He sagged in the guard’s grip before he sank back into the chair.  His head dropped back until he was staring at the ceiling and Emma could see his Adam’s apple bob several times.  “Thank you,” he breathed and it wasn’t hard to hear the relief amidst the quiet sobs.

It took longer than she’d like, but eventually Emma got him relocated to a protective custody ward.  He wasn’t untouchable there, but at least he wasn’t eating and socializing with men he’d put away.  Men who might be in the mysterious benefactor’s pocket.

Now for the hard part.  Emma was going to have to make Killian go through the evidence with a fine toothed comb for what was probably the thousandth time.  Just watching him _remember_ that night nearly broke her; she wasn’t sure she could handle experiencing him _relive_ Milah’s last moments in black and white pixelated images.

It was late by the time she got to the _Jolly Roger_ , Smee barely awake as he waved her in.  She parked quickly and hurried across to Killian’s ship, only dragging her feet once she got aboard.  Nothing she was about to talk to him about was going to be easy.

He was asleep in the bunk, his hair tousled and one arm fallen over the side of the bed.  He looked softer here, younger.  Emma hated to wake him up.  It could wait until morning, she was sure.  Turning to go, Emma wondered if he’d mind too much if she slept in one of the-

“What did Nottingham want?”  Killian’s voice was raspy with sleep still hanging on to the tendrils of his words.

Emma started, but then turned around.  “How did you know?”

Killian sat up and shrugged.  “What else would you go to Walpole for during rush hour?”

_Fair enough._

She told him, cringing as his face got more and more pinched.

“I don’t know what you expect to accomplish by this, Swan,” Killian groused darkly, booting up his laptop nevertheless and clicking on a password protected folder.  There were hundreds of files, all meticulously labeled by date and type of evidence.  “I’ve gone over every second of these videos until I can see them without even thinking about it.  Nottingham is just dicking around with you.”

“I know; and I’m sorry to do this to you.  But, can we really take the chance that he’s not lying?  Can _you_ take the chance that he knows something that could avenge Milah?”

“No,” Killian croaked, shaking his head.  “I just… can I watch this alone?”

Emma’s heart sank into her stomach.  She was making him do this, she was putting him through hell.  She’d thought… she’d hoped that he’d let her be his strength for it.  “If that’s what you really want, Killian.  I’m here for whatever you need.”

Killian turned tortured eyes on her, looking more lost than he had in all the time she’d known him.  “I need a drink,” was all he said, followed by a choked laugh that sent a chill down Emma’s spine.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, knowing that it wasn’t enough.  Nothing would _be_ enough to make up for this.  Not unless Killian could slap handcuffs on Gold and put him away forever.

“I know,” he answered, taking a deep breath and double clicking on an .avi file.

Emma stood from the bunk she’d sank down on and headed for the deck.  “Let me know if you need _anything_ ,” she begged.

She got only silence for an answer.

Emma lost track of time sitting on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ , just watching the waves splash against the hull.  She’d probably have sat there all night if a violent shiver hadn’t wracked her body.  It felt like someone had walked over her grave, or however that old wives’ tale went.  When she looked at her watch, Emma was surprised - and a little horrified - to realize that it was well past midnight.  The sun would be rising soon.

Killian had been alone with Milah’s ghost for hours.  He hadn’t made a sound.

“Killian?” she called out towards the cabin, not wanting to go against his wishes to be alone but _needing_ to know how he was managing.

There was no answer.

Emma slipped down below deck and saw the blue glow from the laptop screen illuminating the cabin.  It was the only light to see by.

Killian wasn’t watching the screen.  He was slumped against the bunk behind the desk, his tear tracks glistening in the light.  His eyes were closed, but by the fresh tears still falling and the hitched shaking of his shoulders, Emma could tell he was still awake.

“Killian,” she whispered, and she may have well have shouted for the reaction it garnered.

Killian jumped, his breath coming out in an audible whoosh as he didn’t quite make it to his feet and collapsed back against the deck.  He reached up to scrub his face angrily, trying to erase any evidence of his tears.  It wasn’t very effective when they just kept falling.  Eventually, he gave up and dropped his head to his knees, hugging himself tightly as if he could keep all the pieces of himself from spilling across the cabin floor.

“Sorry, luv,” he croaked, his voice hoarse, “I didn’t hear you come down.”

Emma shook her head, coming closer and craning her head to look at the laptop screen.  The video player was frozen, Milah’s face half caught on the screen.  She was smiling, her hair loose and curling artfully around her face.  Emma was amazed at how carefree she looked, as if she’d never been bogged down by the likes of Gold.

“You did that for her, you know?”  Emma spoke without thinking, her voice echoing through the small cabin.

Killian shook his head ruefully.  “She did that all on her own; she just let me come along for the ride.”

Emma crouched down in front of him.  “No, Killian.  _You_ gave her that.  She couldn’t have found it on her own.  She couldn’t have kept it.  Not and go home to Gold every night.  Milah would have died long before Gold murdered her if it wasn’t for you.”

Killian’s head rose and he stared at her.  Emma did her best not to fidget, to let him read what he needed to off her face.  He’d told her that he could read her like an open book, she needed him to do it now.

“Aye?” he asked, and Emma heard the unspoken question:   _Are you lying to make me feel better?_

She nodded her head in response, reaching out hesitantly to lay her hand on his knee.  He was warm under his jeans; she could remember that warmth wrapped around her as they slept that night after the bar.

“Did you find anything?” she asked finally, once he’d gotten his emotions under control.

Killian just shook his head.  “I don’t know how many times I’ve watched this tonight, this and the dash cam footage from the accident.  I just don’t see anything.  Swan, _please_ ,” he begged, not able to finish his plea.

“Can I try?  You’re so close to this, Killian, so close to _her_ … maybe… you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Killian was silent for a long moment, his eyes trailing back and forth between Emma and the image of Milah on his screen.  Finally, he nodded.  “Aye, luv.  Maybe.”

Emma smiled gently.  “Do you want to watch it with me, or do you want me to go-”

“No!” he shouted, making them both jump.  “No, luv, please stay.”

Emma nodded, grabbing the laptop from the desk and sitting down next to him.  “All right, Jones.  Show me that night.”

Killian nodded, reaching over her to hit the spacebar on the keyboard.

An hour later and Emma was ready to drive back up to the prison and murder Nottingham, herself.  Killian was right; there was simply nothing here.  She’d put him through this for nothing.

“I’m sorry, Killian,” she apologized for what seemed like the hundredth time that night alone.  “I don’t know why I believed him.  I just wanted…”

“I know, luv.  I wanted it, too.”  He sounded so dejected, so broken.  Emma’s heart plummeted into her stomach.  She’d gotten her hopes up.  She knew better than to do that.

“Don’t give up, Swan.  We’ll figure it out.  We’ll get him.”

Emma laughed hollowly.  “I think that’s supposed to be my line,” she quipped, but it fell flat.

Killian smiled anyway, a little thing that warmed Emma more than she’d been prepared for.  “One more time?” she asked, ready to slam the laptop shut if he showed the slightest hesitation.  She could see the sun’s light peeking under the door to the cabin.

“Aye, once more.”

Emma searched his face, but saw only determination there.  She nodded and hit play again.

They watched as Milah pulled into the garage.  She drove Gold’s ostentatious Cadillac into a visitor’s spot, got out and locked it, and pranced - there really was no other word for it - out of view of the camera.  They watched painstakingly through the twenty minutes that she was gone, looking for anything out of place - some minor detail to prove that the footage had been looped, anything -  but didn’t see anything.

Killian had three separate reports on the authenticity of the film during this span - nothing was doctored and nothing was spliced together.

Then they watched as Milah walked back to the car and drove away.  There was nothing left behind but a little bit of condensation from the air conditioner.

There was nothing.

“I’m sorry, Killian,” she said again.  She’d say it a million more times if she thought it would help.

“Don’t trouble yourself, luv,” Killian soothed.  “It’s not the last time I’ll watch this film, with or without your asking.”

Emma knew it wasn’t the last time she’d watch the video, either.  Killian deserved that, at the very least.

 


	10. Hostage Negotiation

Killian stared at the screen in abject horror.  How could he have missed it?  How could he have watched this video so many times in the past eighteen months and not realized?  Killian felt as though he’d been sucker punched in the belly, all the air gone from his lungs leaving him feeling faint.

Her wedding ring.

There was one half a second when Milah’s left hand was open and in view of the camera as she was walking back to the car.  She was wearing her bloody wedding ring from that bastard.  The video was all wrong.

He felt like his brain had come loose from the moorings, spinning wildly about caught in the tide of realization.

“Killian?” Emma whispered, running her hand across his bare shoulders before squeezing his biceps.  “What are you doing?”

Killian jumped at the first touch, but then whirled around, nearly making himself dizzy.  “Swan!  You’ve got to see this, luv!”  He grabbed her hand from where it was resting and spun her around to face the computer.

Emma just stared at him.

“Look!” he cried again, waving at the screen.  Couldn’t she see?

“Just come back to bed, Killian.  I promise we’ll look again in the morning,” Emma soothed, reaching out to close the laptop.

“No, luv, look!” he tried again, finally realizing what he must look like - the blanket thrown over his hips, the laptop perched precariously between his knees and the desk.  “She’s wearing her wedding ring.”

“I see that,” she replied, looking closer at the screen.  “What…?”

“The tape’s been altered,” he nearly shouted in Emma’s ear.  “She can’t have been wearing her wedding ring in the video from that night.  She can’t have been wearing it when she left.  She came to the precinct that night to give it to _me_.”

A smile started to fill Emma’s face.  It was a satisfied looking thing, a glint in her eyes and a quirk of her lips.  “She wasn’t wearing the ring when she left?  You’re sure?”

“I’ve still got it; I couldn’t bear to get rid of it after… I still have it at home.”

Emma grinned now.  “Show me,” she demanded, grabbing his hand and pulling him from the chair.

Killian cackled, rising to his feet and letting the blanket pool around his feet.  “I think we might need some clothes, darling,” he admonished.

Emma looked him up and down appreciatively before she reached for his shirt.  “Come on, Jones.  We have work to do,” she said as she threw it to him.

There was snow on the ground and swirling through the air.  The wind whipped through his hastily donned apparel, making him shiver.  Killian pulled Emma under his arm as they raced from the ship to the Chevelle.  He couldn’t wait to get back to the apartment and find Milah’s ring.  Finally, after all this time, he could nail Gold to the wall for what he’d done.

If the video was altered, there was enough cause to-

“We’ll need to get Heller to admit to doctoring the tapes if we’re ever going to get anywhere, you know,” Emma mused when they were nearly to his street.

Killian nodded, not taking his eyes off the road.  It was getting a little bit slick and the last thing he needed was to end up off the road in a snowbank with no help on the way.  “Aye, luv, but you’ll get him.”

“You think so?” she asked, a hint of doubt coloring her words.

Killian was surprised to hear it; _he_ had no qualms about her running this investigation.  “Neither one of us is going to give up, Emma.  Heller is loyal to Gold, aye, but he’s loyal to himself first.  Besides, I’ve yet to see you fail.”

Emma smiled then, settling back into her seat and looking out the window.  “I want you far away from the station when I question him,” she whispered as Killian parallel parked down the block from his apartment.

“What?!” he hissed, turning the wheel too soon and just barely missing the old bat’s car who lived upstairs from them.  That was all he and Liam needed.  Granny Lucas was a lot of things, but a kindly geriatric she was not.

“It’s just…” Emma wrinkled her nose, looking as though she wanted to be anywhere but in this conversation, “Killian, you’re too close to this.  And you and Isaac don’t exactly have the best track record.”

Killian slammed on the breaks, apologizing even as he did it.  “How do you know about that?”

Emma grimaced.  “A contact of mine might have… dug up the original arrest report on you from-”

“Milah’s funeral,” Killian growled.  “Aye, I know the report.  I don’t know how Liam got it amended, but no one’s supposed to have access.”

“I’ll get a confession out of him, Jones.  I will,” she swore.  “But if you’re there and you lose your temper…”

“Then Gold will make sure that the confession is reported as coerced and we’ll be back to square one,” Killian finished for her, throwing the car into neutral before pulling the brake.  “I don’t like it.  Isaac is a bloody weasel.  But… you’re right.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Killian.  You deserve this.  I’ll make sure that you’re there when we take down Gold.  But in order to do that-”

“In order to do that, I have to sit on my hands like a good little boy and stay out of trouble,” Killian muttered.  “I got the company line, Swan.”

  “Killian, I-”

“Let’s just go get Milah’s ring.  Please, Swan, I just want to get some sleep.”

Emma nodded and got out of the car.  She stopped and waited for him to cross behind the trunk and reached out to lay a hand on his arm.  Killian didn’t want to admit how good it felt.  How much it calmed him down.

“I know you’re going to get him, Swan.  I trust you,” he told her, the words sounding a bit hollow to his ears.  He meant every word, he _did_ ; it was just hard to be put on a desk after he’d found a lead for the first time in a year and a half.

Emma looked at him like he was a strange creature she’d never seen before.  Her fingers tightened around his forearm, squeezing gently until he smiled.  “Let’s go inside, Killian.  It’s freezing out,” she managed with an encouraging nod.

The ring was just where he left it.  Not that he’d had to wonder - it was the last thing he saw every night before turning off the bedside lamp, right next to his mother’s picture and Liam’s Academy graduation photo.

“It’s here, Swan,” he whispered reverently, pinching the ring between his fingers and holding it up to the light.  “She gave it to me as a promise.  A promise that she was going to stay with me.  And he bloody well killed her for it.”

Emma took the ring gently, dropping it into an evidence bag from her backpack.  “I’ll take care of it, Killian,” she promised.

“They both left me, you know?” he asked, but he wasn’t really talking to her anymore, staring at the pictures on his table.  “Liam got hurt six months after Milah died.  They both left me.”

“You’ve never told me what happened,” she said, and it was all it took to send him spiraling back to that day.

* * *

_“Killian? What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Liam hisses, fastening and then unfastening the velcro securing the bulletproof vest to his torso._

_Killian’s gaze is drawn to his brother’s chest, where the letters POLICE are emblazoned -_ in case of a firefight so the suspects have a better target _, he tells himself bitterly.  It’s not the first call like this they’ve had lately, and until the culture changes, it won’t be the last.  Doesn’t make it easier to know that he’s about to go into a situation where he may be training his weapon on a child._

_A child with deadly weapons, yes, but still a_ child _._

_“Gold ordered everyone who wasn’t on an active crime scene to report to Midas.”  Head of the Crisis Negotiation Unit, Aurel Midas is an imposing man of his own right.  He has a reputation for getting results - no matter what the cost.  Killian knows that Liam doesn’t really like the man or his methods, but no one can argue with the success rate he carries._

_Not to mention that - for the foreseeable future, anyway - he is their commanding officer._

_Liam sighs in resignation, but nods.  “Nothing we can do about it now.  Keep your head on a swivel, little brother.”_

_“I’m not a bloody rookie, Liam.  You don’t need to mollycoddle me,” he shoots back angrily.  Everything Liam says now seems to set Killian off, and he can track it back to_ that _night.  The night when Liam stopped him from getting to Milah, the night when he risked his own career to get Killian out of the drunk tank, the night when Killian’s life ended._

_Whatever Liam was going to say is cut off when Midas, himself, comes over.  “If you two are finished getting ready, we’re set to breach momentarily.”_

_“Sir,” Liam starts, waiting until he has Midas’s attention, “my brother isn’t-”_

_“Liam!” Killian shouts vehemently, causing a number of heads to turn in their direction._

_Liam looks unapologetic, but snaps his jaw shut and turns his head away.  They really don’t have time for this and Killian can’t spare a thought for his brother’s_ feelings _right now.  He turns away himself and seeks out Robin, readjusting his own vest as he does so._

_They have children to protect by neutralizing other, slightly more anarchistic children.  He’ll never be able to get his head around it._

_“You ready for this?” Robin asks sadly, the look in his eyes betraying his own feelings on the matter.  With his son not yet in school, he can only hope that by the time Roland_ is _a student this will be a nightmare and not his class’s reality._

_Killian shakes his head ‘no’.  He’ll never be ready for this.  “Bloody Liam tried to get me sidelined,” he says angrily instead of what he’s really thinking - that he wishes there had been a murder elsewhere in the city that had taken their attention._

_“He’s just-”_

_“I_ know _what he’s ‘_ just’ _,” he interrupts.  “He doesn’t have the right to my life!”_

_That isn’t true.  Killian_ knows _it isn’t true and he doesn’t even really believe it_ should _be.  But ever since Mi- ever since_ that _night, Liam has been dictating his every move.  It’s driving him mad._

_To his credit, Robin doesn’t say anything and, for that, Killian is thankful.  He remembers what he yelled at Locksley from the back of the squad car, is amazed that his partner hasn’t washed his hands of him yet._

_He’s surprised again and again that_ everyone _hasn’t washed their hands of him yet.  He’s not worth the bother.  Not anymore._

_They get the order to breach and that’s the last he thinks about Liam.  He may not care much about what happens to_ him _from here on out, but he’s got Robin to think about.  He’s got young_ Roland _to think about.  He won’t let the boy lose his father if it’s in his power to prevent it._

_The halls are eerily quiet, the ghosts of their travelers echoing in Killian’s ears.  He wonders what it’s like when they’re full, if things have changed so much since he and Liam wandered these passageways.   Back then, their heads were filled with idealistic thoughts and concerned with only what was left of their family and nothing outside of that._

_Now, things are so much more_ real _and sometimes Killian wishes that he was still that wide-eyed youth. The boy who experienced heartache far too young but still had hopes for the future.  The future, now, looks like endless torture._

_He doesn’t know how it happens.  One minute he and Robin are clearing an otherwise empty hallway.  The next he’s sprawled on the floor, his face squashed against the cool tile and shouting all around him.  He hears several gunshots, but doesn’t feel the unfortunately familiar tearing of a bullet through him.  Chaos has erupted around him._

_But that’s not what terrifies Killian._

_No, what terrifies him is the very familiar, very agonized groan of pain that rings through his ears._

Liam _._

_Killian can’t move, can’t get free of Liam’s dead weight across his back.  Liam won’t answer him.  His brother is making sounds, is clearly conscious - albeit not cognizant, apparently - but that’s as far as it goes._

_“Liam?  Liam, please!  Robin?”  His calls go unanswered, adding frustration to the terror and the adrenaline wrapping around his heart and squeezing.  He doesn’t even know what happened, doesn’t know where Liam came from, doesn’t know why his brother is moaning._

_And then it’s as if someone hit the mute button on the scene.  The only noise he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.  Liam has gone utterly silent and still above him.  He can’t breathe, he can’t_ think _.  He needs his brother._

_“Don’t move, Killian,” Robin warns, his hand on Killian’s shoulder.  “Are you hurt?”_

Me?

_It’s the most utterly ridiculous thing he’s ever been asked._ Liam _is the one who is hurt.  The one who is_ important _._ God, _he can’t lose Liam.  Not now.  He won’t survive it._

_“What’s going on?  What happened to Liam?” he tries again now that he knows Locksley is there.  “Robin, answer me!”_

_“You didn’t see him?” Robin asked incredulously._

_Killian blinks.  See Liam?  Obviously not, or he wouldn’t be asking what happened.  He manages to turn his head without someone stopping him and comes face to face with a greasy haired blonde boy, his eyes wide open and staring sightlessly._

_The gunshots._

_Killian can’t stop staring at the teenager, at the ever-increasing pool of blood around him, at the glint of metal still clutched in his fingers._

_A blood-stained knife._

_“Robin?” he begs.  “Liam?”_

_Locksley moves into his line of sight and nods sadly.  “Your brother, he came out of nowhere.  I don’t even know… one second this kid was practically flying at you and the next…” he trails off, looking over Killian’s shoulder._

_“We need medics in the South wing,” David calls.  Killian didn’t even know he was there.  “Hold on, Jones.  Don’t you dare die on us.”_

_Killian can’t breathe.  Liam… Liam_ can’t _die._

This is why you can’t have nice things, _he berates himself.  Mama, Father, Milah.  They all left him.  Now Liam is going, too._

_Because of_ him _.  They all leave because Killian isn’t good enough._

_There’s a flurry of activity around him a few moments later.  Liam is lifted from his back and before Killian can even take a full breath, Locksley is hauling him to his feet and patting him down._

_Killian is covered in blood.  He’s not even entirely sure it’s all Liam’s._

_“Are you hurt?” Robin asks again, but Killian just levels him with a look.  If Robin truly thought he was hurt, he wouldn’t have risked moving him._

_He shakes his head anyway, too terrified to look over to where the medics are frantically working over Liam.  There’s blood everywhere, but Killian just stares at the dead boy’s face, committing it to memory.  There’s nothing for it now, but he at least wants a face to go with the nightmares he knows are coming._

_He needs a face to rail at if Liam doesn’t… if he…_

_“You’re riding with me, Jones,” Robin orders, steering him after the gurney that is quickly being whisked away._

_“Like hell,” he seethes.  “I’m going with Li-”_

_“You’ll get in the way.  Let David go with him.”_

_Killian just shakes his head.  “Robin,_ please _, I can’t.  If he… I need…_ please _.”_

_The look in Robin’s eyes isn’t one Killian remembers seeing before.  It’s guilt mixed in with grief mixed in with indecision._

_David makes the decision for them, all but shoving Killian up the back step into the bus next to his brother.  There are too many wires, too many alarms.  Not enough movement from his brother._

God, he’s so still.

_“Sit down,” the paramedic orders, pointing brusquely to the jump seat near Liam’s hip._

_He sits._

_Well, that’s what Killian will tell anyone who asks later.  Really, his knees buckle at the pallor to Liam’s skin, at the way his eyelashes look far too dark against his cheeks, at the way his breath barely fogs the oxygen mask obscuring half his face._

_He’s alive, but who knows how long that will last._

_Killian watches in a daze as the doors close and the paramedic works efficiently but a little frantically.  Liam still doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound._

_He can’t breathe.  His legs have gone numb.  His fingers are tingling.  Someone has obviously wrapped ropes around his chest and they are cinching them tighter with each passing moment.  The wail of the ambulance sirens are only distant in his ears, the rush of blood still drowning everything else around him._

_God, why can’t he_ breathe _?_

_“Hey!”  Someone shouts in his ear, causing Killian to turn slowly, as if he’s moving under water._

Robin _.  When the hell did Robin get in the ambulance?_

_“Come on, Killian.  Let’s go find a waiting room.  Maybe Jasmine has someplace to get you cleaned up.”_

What _?_

_“The ambulance has to stop first,” Killian says, as if that will explain everything._

_Robin blinks at him._

_Killian turns his head to look at Liam, to make sure he’s still alive, to see if-_

_“Where is he?”  Killian’s eyes shoot to Robin.  “My brother.  Robin, where’d he go?”_

_Robin doesn’t say anything, but he’s smiling the same way he did when they found that abused kid hiding in the Callahan Tunnel.  He reaches out and unbuckles Killian’s seatbelt, tugging him up to stand._

_“I’ll take you to him.”_

_Killian just nods, the ropes around his chest tightening even further and making him see spots._

_“Jones!”_

_Killian is sitting on the pavement, sprawled against the back bumper of the ambulance.  There’s a high pitched wheezing sound coming from somewhere, and it got very dark all of a sudden.  He wonders if a storm crept up on them; it can’t be more than four in the afternoon._

_Someone has a vice grip on his wrist, another has a hand spread against his chest, holding him upright._

_“You with us now, mate?” Robin asks, his voice a little too high, the words a little too fast._

_Killian nods slowly.  He hears someone mention a panic attack and, suddenly, all the pieces start to fall into place.  That was_ him _making that wheezing sound._

_“Liam?” he asks hesitantly.  The answer to that question is the only thing that matters._

_Robin smiles gently, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.  “They took him into surgery.  David’s up there waiting for news.  He’ll call me if anything…” he doesn’t finish the sentence._

_Killian doesn’t want him to._

_Robin and the two men in scrubs kneeling on either side of him help Killian to stand, but Locksley waves them away once he’s steady._

_“Let’s try this again, all right?  Maybe with less fainting this time?”_

_Killian scowls half-heartedly.  “I don’t_ faint _.”_

_“Sure,” Robin says, but he isn’t agreeing with him.  “Let’s find a shower, hmm?”_

_And so the hours begin to pass.  First pacing the waiting room, then being mothered by David’s wife, then sitting in the hard plastic chair, unable to do anything but stare into the slowly-cooling coffee in his hands._

_“Family of Liam Jones?”  Killian has never heard four words more terrifying in his entire life._

_Liam is stable, if not out of the woods.  They had trouble finding the source of his bottoming out blood pressure even after they stopped the bleeding.  They sent samples of his blood to the lab, just in case._

_The next twenty-four hours are critical._

_They move Killian to Liam’s bedside, hushed whispers in the background mentioning things like visiting hours and those not applying to_ him _.  He hears Milah’s name thrown out once, but shies away from the conversation after that.  Whatever Locksley and the doctor are talking about doesn’t matter.  Killian is by Liam’s side and that’s where he is going to stay until his brother wakes up._

_So he sits.  And he watches over Liam.  And he waits._

_“You stubborn arse,” he mutters sometime on day three.  It’s perhaps the first thing he’s said since entering Liam’s room.  Killian is pretty sure Liam can’t hear him, what with the drugs being fed into his IV, but once he opens his mouth, he finds he can’t stop._

_“I don’t know what you were thinking, getting in between me and that knife.  I’m not your child; I don’t need a minder any longer.  I love you, Liam, I_ do _, but at some point you’ve got to realize that I’m an adult and I can take care of myself.  Don’t scoff at me, I know you think differently, but I can.  And if I choose to…” he trails off, watching the monitors for a moment._

_Nothing changes._

_“Liam,” he continues, not quite on the same thread any longer, “I’m not the one who deserves to live, you do.  God, everything that’s happened in the last few years, hell in our_ lives _, it’s all been my fault.  I can’t have your blood on my hands, too, Liam.  I_ can’t _.  I won’t survive it.  So I need you to stop, all right?”_

_Robin comes in then, or maybe it’s David.  Killian doesn’t care who it is, the two of them bring the same message._ Take a walk, take a shower, get some sleep. _He doesn’t care; don’t they know he can’t leave Liam?  He can’t lose his brother and if he leaves the room, if he isn’t right there tethering Liam to this world, then who knows what storm of medical jargon could drag him under._

_“I miss you, Liam,” he admits sometime on day five.  He’s not even looking at Liam in the bed anymore, speaking over his shoulder as if Liam is behind him, half in and half out of the room… half out of reality… halfway to his own grave.  The doctors found something in Liam’s blood; they haven't’ been able to identify it yet, but they’re sure it’s the reason for all the cardiac trouble._

_God, if Killian never hears the alarm on his brother’s EKG again, it will be too soon.  He’s heard the doctors and nurses using phrases like tachycardia and then hypotension, worrying about stroke volume and the integrity of heart valves.  They worry that the damage is irreversible._

_None of them seem to worry about explaining this to Killian._

_“Please, Liam.  Please, I need you to come back to me, okay?  Bloody hell, you can’t leave me!  Not you, too.  I won’t survive it, I need_ you _, brother, please.  Please?”_

_“Don’ worry, li’l brother,” Liam slurs only just audibly, his eyes still shut.  “I’m sti-”_

_Killian will never forget the way his brother’s body went from limp and lifeless to shaking violently in what seemed like a heartbeat.  Visible tremors wrack his entire frame and Liam’s eyes shoot open, terror clearly visible as he silently pleads with Killian to_ fix it _._

_“Help!” he shouts, both hands reaching out to take Liam’s.  To show his brother that he’s there, that he won’t leave him.  “Someone help me_ now _!”_

* * *

“It didn’t get any better, not for a long time,” Killian muttered, still looking at his feet.  He scrubbed a hand down over his face and then tangled his fingers in his hair, yanking hard enough to ground himself in the present.  “God, Swan, I don’t even remember how long he was in the hospital.  They kept him sedated most of the time, and David only just managed to drag me out of that damned room long enough every few days for Mary Margaret to get something home cooked into me before I was threatening to hitchhike back to MGH.”

Emma’s heart felt as though someone had shoved it into a vice and started to twist slowly.  She resisted the urge to put a hand to her chest and make sure there wasn’t a gaping wound there.  Killian continued to mutter, but he wasn’t talking to her any longer, not really.  Emma sat down slowly next to him and, with a deep breath for her own courage, laid her hand - palm up - on his knee.

Killian tilted his head to the side, staring at her fingers as though they were some foreign object he’d never seen before. Emma started to pull her hand back when he didn’t move, disappointment warring with resignation.  After all, it wasn’t like he and she were-

Killian snatched her hand back before she could pull away entirely, tangling their fingers together and holding on for dear life.  It was an alien feeling, being needed like this.  She could feel the way he trembled beneath her hand, his leg jittering with nerves and emotion.  Emma couldn’t ever remember feeling that strongly about anyone’s well-being as Killian did for his brother and it made her sad.  Made her feel less, somehow.

She’d never live up to the depths of emotion Killian Jones felt for those he was close to.

“Pretty pathetic, right, Swan?” he interrupted her musings, making Emma jerk her head up to meet his gaze before it could skitter away.

“What?” she asked, sure she’d missed something important.

Killian just shrugged, seemingly transfixed by Emma’s stare.  He didn’t answer, though, and Emma’s stare turned into a glare.

“What?” she asked again, daring him to ignore her query.

Killian finally looked away, finding his shoes fascinating.  “Me,” he whispered so quietly that Emma barely heard him.

She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could, trying to understand.  Trying to will him to explain.  Trying to-

“It happened a year ago.  And he’s _fine_.  I _know_ that.  I just saw him a few days ago.  But it… it doesn’t change the fact that I can still feel his blood sticking to my skin, can still hear the way he… he moaned.”  Killian closed his eyes and a look of despair crossed his features.  “I can still see the seizures if I close my eyes at the wrong moment.  I just…”

Emma tugged at his hand, not really knowing what she wanted, just knowing that she needed to wipe that look of his face.  Killian nearly collapsed against her, forcing Emma to either wrap her free arm around his shoulders or risk toppling over herself.  He didn’t make a sound, but the shudder that ran through him was clue enough.  Emma tightened her arms around him and held on tightly.  

She wasn’t sure when it happened, but Emma’s hand started to card through the scruff at the base of Killian’s skull.  He tensed beneath her at first, but slowly started to relax.  His shoulders sagged and his breathing evened out as she continued, murmuring nonsense in his ear the entire time.

“He’s fine, Killian.  Your brother’s just fine,” she soothed, a little thrill jolting through her when he nodded in response.  It was strange, being needed like this.  It was… well, nice wasn’t the right word for Killian breaking down silently on her shoulder, but that was the word that kept coming to mind.  She was helping; and not in the, ‘I’m going to put the corrupt bastard bringing down this precinct’ way in which she was used to.  No, this whole situation with Killian was something new.  It was terrifying and satisfying and all of those things that she’d read about but never really thought were for her.

Not that she was going to tell _him_ that.

“Let’s just try to get some more sleep, okay?” she asked when he’d finally calmed down.

Killian didn’t say anything, just sat up fully and pulled his shirt over his head.  He maneuvered himself so that he was sitting back against the mahogany headboard and lifted his arm with a jerk of his head.

“You aren’t going to sleep?” Emma asked, concern coloring every word.

Killian just shook his head, wrapping his arm around her and tugging the blankets up over their hips to ward off the room’s chill.  Emma tucked her head under his chin, scratching lightly through the hair on his chest, hoping to ease the tumultuous thoughts she could _feel_ running through his mind.  The pattern made her sleepy, however, and Killian was still tense when she fell asleep.

“Emma, luv,” Killian’s voice filtered through vague dreams of chasing her own tail.  “Come on, wake up.  You’re going to be late.”

Emma opened her eyes and grimaced; there was far too much light coming through his bedroom window for her liking.  She rolled over so she could look up at Killian.

He looked awful.

“Did you sleep?” she asked, only now remembering that he hadn’t slept any on the ship, either.

Killian smirked.  “No, but I called in sick.  If I can’t be _there_ , I don’t want to be there.  I’ll sleep while you’re nailing Isaac to the floor.”

Emma smiled but then got a glimpse of the time on her phone and scrambled out of bed.  “Shit!”

Killian’s laughter followed her out the door, still trying to button her shirt.

* * *

Killian was pacing the length of the apartment by the time Emma called him.  It had been several hours - several hours too _long_ \- if someone would have asked.

“Well?” he barked into the phone without bothering to say hello.

He heard Emma’s exhausted laugh before she said, “We got him.”

Killian hung up before asking anything else.  He was headed for the precinct, no matter what she said.  He got there just in time to see David dragging a squirming Isaac from the interrogation room and Emma leaning smugly against the doorframe.

“It’s all gone,” Heller simpered.  “My life.”

David said something that Killian couldn’t hear, but he heard Isaac’s answer clearly.

“A lifetime of bad bosses.  People who fancy themselves heroes, pushing around people like me.  It was _my_ turn to win.”

Killian stepped out into the hallway, stopping them in their tracks.  “Looks like you don’t win this time, mate,” he sneered before turning on his heel and making a show of ducking back into the stairway.  He needed Emma to follow him.  He needed to know they were going to get Gold.

“We got Isaac to fold, but Gold never came to work this morning,” Emma began without bothering to exchange pleasantries.  “I’m getting a warrant for his arrest now, but if he’s gone to ground…”

“He killed her?” Killian asked, doubting himself only now, when they were so close.

Emma nodded, reaching out for his hand.  “Isaac kept the real footage on a jump drive in a deposit box down the road.  Gold had him swap out the footage, just like you thought.  All I had to do was show him the ring and he started talking.”

Killian didn’t care who saw them.  Bloody Gold, himself, could have walked into the stairway and it wouldn’t have mattered.  He grabbed Emma by the wrist and tugged her into his hold, reaching down with his free hand to tilt her chin up to him.  He kissed her with every ounce of feeling he could muster, words completely escaping him to tell her what this meant.

“Killian,” she warned when they finally broke apart for air.

Killian just tried to dive back in.  She made him feel alive again.  She made him feel like he could almost be whole someday.  Because of her.  Because of-

“This isn't over,” Emma reminded Killian, taking a step back and putting her hand on his chest.

“It never is,” he threw back.  “All the more reason to enjoy the quiet moments.  And right now, we have a quiet moment.”

Emma nodded.  “I know.  I just gotta finish filing this paperwork.”

“Right.  Of course.  Go ahead, but don't tell me you're not avoiding me anymore, because I'm actually quite perceptive.  And this?” he gestured between the two of them.  “This is _still_ avoiding me.”

Emma nodded, looking down at her shoes.  “I know, and I’m sorry.  You deserve-”

“I deserve to choose what I deserve, luv.  Just give me a chance, yeah?”  Killian ducked his head as he raised both eyebrows, questioning her, letting her see how serious he was.

“Be patient,” was all she could give him, pushing up on her tiptoes to brush a featherlight kiss over his cheek.  Her fingers tangled in his and she squeezed before walking away.

“I've all the time in the world,” Killian mumbled, just loud enough to hear.  “Unless Gold finally decides he’s had enough of his games and kills me.”

Emma’s steps faltered, but she didn’t turn around.

Killian sighed, turning his own back and making his way up the stairs towards his desk.  He was exhausted, but he had worked on less sleep in the past.  Stakeouts and nights spent awake watching Liam breathe, praying that the seizures would grant his older brother a few hours’ rest had prepared him for this.  Taking Heller down was only half the battle.  If Gold had somehow gotten wind of Emma’s success, he’d go to ground and it would take a wing and a prayer to find him.

The hell with warrants, Killian knew that they wouldn’t take Gold alive, and that meant breaking a few rules.  Emma would have to forgive him later.

Killian slipped back out of the stairway, looking around to see what everyone in the bullpen was doing.  Mills was bent over his desk, writing furiously in a notebook.  Scarlet and John Little were throwing a paper ball back and forth while talking out an aspect of their case.  Everyone else was either out on a case or to lunch.

Perfect.

Killian slipped into Gold’s office, shutting the door behind him and digging his flashlight out of a pocket.  He was glad, for once, that the crocodile kept all his blinds shut when he wasn’t there, as if his subordinates cared what his office looked like without him in it.  Moving quickly, Killian rifled through desk drawers and filing cabinets, looking for anything that would tell him where Gold had gone.

There was nothing.

Killian slammed the cabinet door shut in frustration, bending over the desk and supporting his weight on his hands.   _Bloody hell_ , he thought angrily, _I just need_ something!

The voicemail light was blinking on Gold’s phone.

It was a hail Mary, but Killian lifted the receiver and hoped that the old man didn’t password protect his private phone.

He didn’t.

_“I see you’ve stepped in it again, Robert,”_ a voice echoed sinisterly over the line.   _“I took care of Nottingham after he talked to Miss Swan.  I’m tired of cleaning up your messes, but I’ll get you out of the country and you’ll owe me.  Meet me at Cerberus’ Warehouse and I’ll have your paperwork ready.”_

Son of a bitch.

He didn’t have time to find Locksley.  He didn’t have time to find Swan.  If this wasn’t legitimate or if Gold had decided to take his chances, then Killian would be pulling her from the investigation for no reason.  Gold could get even further away.  Whoever was on the other end of the line had admitted to orchestrating Nottingham’s… God, was Keith _dead_?... it didn’t matter.  Killian had to get to the warehouse, and he had to get there now.

**_Following a lead at Cerberus warehouse across town_ **

He wasn’t going to bother her and risk the whole investigation, but Killian wasn’t going into a situation like this without someone knowing how to find him, either.

The warehouse had been long abandoned, that much was clear as Killian drove up to the front gate.  He put the car into park and grabbed his vest off the front seat.  Already sprinting over to the door as he velcroed the straps into place, Killian wasn’t quite prepared to find the door wide open.

He should turn around.

“I don’t know what else you want from me, Hades,” Gold’s familiar voice was just recognizable beyond the door.

_Hades?!_ Killian thought, drawing his weapon and stepping inside.   _What have you gotten into, you bloody crocodile?_

Killian cleared the cavernous room as best he could, making a quick beeline for where he heard Gold and another man arguing.  He had no idea how he was going to explain this, but thoughts of warrants and backup were so far beyond his thought process that he just moved on.

“Put your hands up, you bloody bast-” Killian swept into the room, gun raised, sighting on…

Nothing.

There was no one in the room; just a goddamned tape recorder that looked as if it came out of a bad 80’s movie.  Killian stared for a moment, his brain trying to process what he was looking at.

He never heard the man step up behind him, just heard the deafening _thwack_ of what he would realize later was a 2x4 colliding with the side of his head.

…

The world swum sickeningly around him.  Bells rang constantly in his ears, making him even more dizzy.  His stomach threatened to bring up the breakfast he’d choked down while waiting for Swan to call him.  Even the minimal light in the warehouse was making his eyes water.

Of course it had been a bloody trap.  He could see _now_ that it was designed to lure whomever was leaking information to Internal Affairs into making just this mistake.

And he’d leapt in with both feet like a goddamned rookie.

Liam would have his head.

Killian roughly shoved away thoughts of his brother when he heard the creak of the warehouse door being lifted again.  He prayed to anyone, any _thing_ who would listen that it was Swan or Locksley or even some teenagers breaking into the old building to do who-knew-what.

It wasn’t.

 


	11. Officer Needs Assistance

Killian rolled his eyes as Hades, himself, stalked across the concrete floor and crouched in front of him, just out of reach of Killian’s boots.

“And how are you faring this fine morning, Lieutenant?” Hades asked conversationally, as if he wasn’t crouching next to his prisoner, handcuffed and bound around one of the metal poles in the room.

Killian ignored him.

He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Hades glared at him, getting angrier and angrier as Killian continued to ‘admire’ the decor - if one could call cobwebs, questionable stains on the concrete, spatters of his own blood dotting his pants, and a table full of things he didn’t want to think about ‘decor’.

“I asked you a question, Jones,” Hades spoke in the same tone of voice, but Killian could hear the venom dripping in every word.  He wasn’t about to give Hades the satisfaction of hearing him mumble incoherently around the material wadded in his mouth and tied behind his head.

“Oh, right.   _Right,_ ” Hades continued, “you’re a little… tied up at the moment, aren’t you?  I suppose I’ll have to excuse your woeful lack of manners this time, won’t I, Lieutenant?”

Killian rolled his eyes.  He didn’t have time to flinch away before Hades had woven his fingers into Killian’s hair and slammed his head back against the pole.

Stars flew through his vision, making the world spin around him and interrupting the chilling silence of the room with ringing that drowned out Hades’ next words.

“---Miss Swan.”

Killian snapped his head around, his nostrils flaring.

“Oh, I see I have your _full and prompt attention_ now,” Hades crowed, repeating the words Killian had spoken to Swan weeks before.  He’d _thought_ he’d seen Heller skulking in the shadows that night outside the bar.

_He’s known all along_ , Killian thought woefully, wondering if Emma was all right.  If she was safe.  If she was coming for him.

_No_ , he thought angrily at himself, _no you don’t want her anywhere near this._

“I just wanted to stop in and see you before I left you in the capable hands of my friends,” Hades nodded towards the table Killian hadn’t wanted to think about.  “Because, you see, your new friend Miss Swan has been causing too much damage to my organization, so my vindictive side - did you know I have one? - it wants to punish her.”

Killian seethed, pulling against the bonds that held him and hissing threats through the gag in his mouth.  He wouldn’t let the bastard hurt Emma.  He _wouldn’t_.

Hades just laughed.  “Now there’s the reaction I was hoping for.”

_I’m going to rip you limb from bloody limb, just you wait._

Hades stepped back from Killian, then, and snapped once.  It echoed in the cavernous room, but whoever he was summoning must have been listening because they entered almost simultaneously.  Killian never took his eyes off of the man making the demands as the others started to beat him, to burn him, to try and break him.

They were hampered by the pole he was tethered to, Killian thought inanely as he tried to brace himself against the blows coming from both sides.  He tried to roll with the punches as it were, but it only seemed to open another vulnerable spot to his attackers.  Again and again they hit him, cackling sinisterly every time he grunted or cried out.  One of them stomped on his knee and a fire erupted from the joint, tearing a scream from his throat and bringing tears to his eyes that he couldn’t bite back.

When they tired of the game, they pulled back, still grinning at him as his head lolled against the pole, the only reason he was still upright.  Cold water splashed over him, sending painful shivers through his body.  And then they began again.

It could have been minutes or hours later, Killian had lost all sense of time in between the beatings.  He could barely breathe around the gag now, his ribs screaming in protest as he slumped away from the pole - the chains that wound around his torso were the only thing that held him up any more.

He straightened up anyway when Hades sauntered back to his side.

“Now, I want you to think about why you’re here,” Hades spoke over Killian’s wheezing.  Blood dripped down the side of his face, but he refused to acknowledge it.  “You refuse to do as I ask.  All of this could have been over if you would have just played the game.  But, no, you had to go and be noble, bring hope to the hopeless as it were.  And despite some… creative beatings, you just won’t break, will you?”

Killian grinned around the bloody fabric in his mouth, trying to see straight as Hades paced around him.

Everything hurt.

His ribs, his face, his bloody _hair_ all felt like they were simultaneously on fire and being smothered with rocks.  There was barely an inch of him left free from some kind of hurt, and he dearly wanted to pass out and regain some strength before the next round.

“You have interfered with my carefully cultivated existence and I want nothing more than to break you,” Hades continued, almost jovially.

Killian met his stare with a glare of his own.  Hades would _never_ break him.

“But I am smart enough to admit my own mistakes.  I thought that enough of _this_ ” - he waved around the room - “would be enough.  I was wrong.”

The sadistic grin that Hades graced him with sent a tendril of fear snaking its way around Killian’s heart and began to squeeze.

_No.  No, please._

“No, instead, I am going to collect your friends-”

_No!_

“-and hurt them.”

_No! No, please God, no!_  A strangled whimper escaped around the gag and Killian didn’t even have a hope of biting it back.

Hades continued on for awhile, but it didn’t matter.  Images of his partner Locksley, of Nolan and his wife, of Scarlet or Liam, of _Swan_ being dragged into this warehouse and dismantled in front of him swam through his vision and paralyzed him.

_No!_

Killian didn’t even notice the other men coming into the room until they started to beat him again, nor when Hades left him behind without another word.

*******

“Killian…” a voice whispered, breaking him from the stupor he’d fallen into when they finally left him to sit in his own blood.  “Killian, look at me.”

_Swan._

_No!  No, get out!_

Killian’s eyes rolled wildly, trying to find Emma.  Trying to warn her.

She was kneeling behind him, hands fumbling with the locks and the handcuffs to try and free him.

He mumbled, begged, shouted through the gag for her to get out of there.

“Shhh, it’s all right now.  Gimme a second and I’ll get you out of here.”

Killian shook his head wildly, still trying to speak around the fabric.  She had to _go_.

But he didn’t have time to think, only to act when the chains fell away and he crashed into her arms.  Killian struggled to his knees, tearing the radio from Swan’s fingers before she could call in the officer down code.

“Killian!” she reached for the mike, but he smashed it against the concrete, chagrined to see that he didn’t have the strength to break it.

But she seemed to understand.

_Thank you, Swan,_ he thought, hoping that she’d leave him here and _run_.

He should have known better.

Emma ran her fingers through his hair before untying the fabric and peeling it out of his mouth.

“I could have lost you,” she whispered as she hefted him up, bearing the brunt of his weight.

“What’s the matter, Swan?” he spoke roughly, biting back the groans of pain as best he could. “Afraid that you won’t have enough evidence to make your case if-”

“I _could have lost you!_ ” she shouted, her words echoing through the room.

Oh.

_Oh!_

“Why, Swan, I didn’t know you cared,” Killian deflected, not quite comfortable with his own realizations.

She smirked, her fingers tightening around his hip as she led him to her car.  “Then you’re an absolute idiot and you don’t deserve that badge, do you?”

Well, she had him there, didn’t she?

* * *

Killian should be in a hospital.

That was the one thought running rampant through Emma’s mind as she lowered him into the backseat of the Bug, trying to ignore the grunts and bitten-off moans every time he moved.  Hades had done a number on him in that warehouse.  His face was bloody and bruised, one eye swollen completely shut, and Emma didn’t want to think about what the rest of him looked like.

He should be in the back of an ambulance with painkillers and antibiotics and an oxygen mask to muffle the sounds of his hurt that tore through her.  He wasn’t supposed to be able to affect her like this.

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

It had been just another case.  One that would put her name on the map, so to speak, but still just another case.  He was just another detective, an anonymous source she was supposed to use for information and then send back to his own career.

She wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

But she had.  He’d tunneled under her walls or scaled them or maybe just blown them all to Hell and crawled into the rubble next to her.

So now what was she supposed to do?

Who could she trust?

Who would trust _her?_

Internal Affairs wasn’t a glorious position.  She was reviled in most precincts and outright scorned nearly everywhere she went within the boundaries of her jurisdiction.  But someone needed to call men like Gold to task and she was good at what she did.

If it meant she had very few people she could call friend, then that was just a side effect of the job, wasn’t it?

She hadn’t minded.  Not until now.

Now, when Jones needed to be in the back of an ambulance and she couldn’t risk it - the call over the radio that she’d nearly made on instinct had almost signed his death warrant as it was.  If Gold got wind of where Killian was, unprotected and vulnerable, it would be the end of him.

Him, and her case, but Emma was rapidly figuring out how little the second one mattered to her in light of the threat to the first.

So here she was, driving across town and out of the bustle of the city limits to an old, beat up cabin that Jones had told her about once.  Emma was worried - on so many levels - but she needed to get Killian someplace safe where she could help him and she needed it to be somewhere that Hades and Gold wouldn’t know to look.  The cabin belonged to him and his brother, but they had always held it as some sort of a safe house - he hadn’t been clear on _why_ , exactly - so it wasn’t in either of their names.  It might be a long shot, it might cause more harm than good if it was too far away from help, but it would give them a place to regroup.

As long as Killian wasn’t dealing with any injuries that a first aid kit and her emergency response training couldn’t handle.

The coordinates ( _seriously, Jones, there’s not even an address?_ ) that she had saved in her GPS told Emma she had nearly an hour to figure out who to call for help and supplies.  She had a sneaking suspicion that with Killian being who he was, the supplies would be well taken care of. But as for help… she just prayed that his elusive brother would be there.

God, she needed help.

_Killian_ needed help.

He was nearly silent in the back, crammed onto the too-small seat she’d never thought too much about before.  His knees were bent up to his chest, just within reach of her hand if she wanted to touch him.  Emma probably should have gotten him into the front seat, at least so he could stretch out, but he’d bitten out “in the back” when she’d opened the door and she’d nearly lost her grip on him when Killian had tried to grab the seat lever.

_“No, Jones, there’s not enough room,” she’d tried to adjust her hands without hurting him further.  Every whimper she pulled from him made her stomach clench.  She didn’t want to hurt him._

_“Can’t… don’t want to be seen.  Traffic cams,” he’d muttered, still trying to move the front seat.  So the backseat - and the illusion of hiding from prying eyes - it was._

_The building had exploded not thirty seconds after she’d jammed the keys in the ignition.  She’d still been close enough that the shockwave had echoed through her, stealing her breath and making her fingers tighten on the wheel to keep the Bug from fishtailing._

_“Guess we know why he left me alive,” was Killian’s only reaction, his words punctuated with gasps and groans._

_Emma stared into the rearview mirror, every instinct ground into her demanding that she call in the billowing smoke and fire that engulfed the warehouse swiftly.  She couldn’t risk it; not with Killian so injured, in so much danger._

_Not when she couldn’t protect him alone._

_“Don’t…” Killian’s voice cut off as he shifted and masked a groan.  “Don’ call’t in.”_

_“I won’t,” Emma assured.  “Let’s just get you out of here.”_

_But where to go?_

_“Liam,” Killian bit out, and it sounded as if it cost him dearly._

_Emma nearly turned around but they’d finally merged onto the highway and there was too much traffic to risk it.  “Killian?”_

_He didn’t answer, just a choked moan that let her know he was still there._

Emma hit a frost heave in the road and Killian whined pitifully, letting Emma know he was still somewhat awake in the back seat and sending her hand backwards to soothe over his knee cap without conscious thought.

“Sorry!  I’m sorry, I couldn’t avoid it!” she begged his forgiveness, her hand tracing frantic circles over the torn denim.  His skin underneath was clammy.

“‘S ok,” Killian grunted somewhat unintelligibly, his fingers tangling in hers.  “Jus’ keep goin’.”

Emma’s fingers tightened around his and refused to let go.

She wouldn’t take her hand away, not even twenty minutes later when his fingers went completely limp, the backseat now silent save for his even breathing.

_Thank God_ , she thought as she turned off the main road at the GPS-lady’s insistence.

The goddamned road wasn’t paved.  She muttered several curses under her breath, not wanting to wake Killian if he was sleeping and not unconscious behind her.  There was no way to avoid all of the potholes and the ruts in the road that years of use without proper maintenance - _and bloody_ tar, _God forbid,_ she thought furiously - had carved into the path.

Ten minutes - and Emma was sure, part of her engine lost to the ‘ _road’_ \- later, and the GPS chimed her arrival.  They were in the goddamned middle of nowhere and there wasn’t anything resembling a cabin in sight.

“What the hell, Jones?” she muttered, cutting what was left of the engine and unfolding herself from the driver’s seat.  Untangling her fingers from Jones’s was one of the hardest things she’d had to do since she found him and a chill traveled up her spine.  She needed to get him some help.  But the road didn’t continue, and she was surrounded by trees.

They were alone.

And then she smelled smoke.

Hoping beyond hope that there was someone who could help her, Emma locked Killian in the car and followed her nose through the trees and up a hill.  Emma was just about to turn around and curse Jones out and then drive him to a hospital and hope that an alias would be enough to keep him safe when she saw it.

There was a tiny little cabin with smoke coming out of the chimney and a wrap-around porch and a snowmobile parked outside.  To top it all off, there was an honest-to-God lumberjack to the left of the porch, flannel shirt stretching across his shoulders as he split wood.

If there wasn’t the idiot bleeding out in her backseat ( _stop being dramatic, Emma, that’s Jones’s job_ ) she’d think that she’d wandered into a dream.

Or a postcard.

It was perfect.

Desperately trying to believe that she was in the right place, Emma slip-slid down the hill towards the mountain man ( _don’t call him that if you want his help, Emma_ ) and called out so she wouldn’t startle him.

He jumped anyway.

“Can I help you, lass?” he asked as he shouldered the ax.  God, the accent matched Jones’s and if this man wasn’t related to Killian, Emma would turn in her badge.

“I… I have Killian.”

The ax slipped off his shoulder and thudded into the snow at his boots.

“I… he needs help.”

Blood drained from the man’s face as he stared at her.  “Where’s my brother?”

_Liam._  This was Liam Jon-

“Where is my _brother?_ ” he shouted before Emma could process the question the first time.

Emma pointed up the hill.  “Here.  In my car.  I didn’t… I ran out of road.”

Liam shot past her, climbing the hill in record pace and leaving Emma holding the keys, a little shell-shocked.  And then she realized that if Liam was anything like his brother, he’d likely break one of her windows rather than waiting for the keys.

“Hey!  Wait for me!” she shouted at his back, scrambling up the incline after Liam.

When she got to the car, Liam hadn’t broken the window.  He was staring inside with one hand clenched around the door handle, the other pressed to the glass as if he could make it disappear, trembling a little.

“Is he…” he whispered, apparently aware that she was behind him.  Emma reached around him to unlock the door. 

“He passed out about half an hour ago.  But he’s all right” - Emma shrugged at Liam’s sharp look - “more or less.”

Liam wrenched open the door and knelt near Killian’s head.  His fingers carded through his brother’s hair and Emma felt as if she were intruding.  “I’ve got you now, little brother.  Just rest.”

Liam reached into his pocket and fished out a set of keys.  “There’s a path around the back of the cabin that will bring you around here with the snowmobile.”

It was clearly a dismissal, and Emma tried not to hiss her dislike of his orders.  Killian was _hers_ , and Emma had never learned to share her toys well.

But this was Killian’s brother, and he likely didn’t want to share the man in her car with anyone else, either.  And the two of them squaring off wouldn’t get Killian inside and warm any time soon.  So Emma snatched the keys from outstretched fingers and clomped back to the cabin, muttering under her breath the entire way.

It took longer than either of them would have liked, but finally Killian was secure in the sled that would trail behind the snowmobile and Liam took over maneuvering the machine back around to the cabin and the promise of warmth and help.

Emma was off the back before the engine cut out, kneeling at Killian’s head and relieved to see one eye slitted open and watching her.

“Hey there,” she whispered, a silly little grin on her face.  “Welcome back.”

Killian tried to shake his head.  “Didn’t go anywhere.  Safe?”

“You’re safe, little brother,” Liam cut in, undoing the straps over Killian’s chest and hips.  He smiled softly when Killian’s head lolled to meet his gaze.  “Let’s get you inside and warm, aye?  Then you can tell me all about this mess you’ve found yourself in.”

Killian whined audibly, but reached out for Liam’s arm and tried to lever himself up.

Emma and Liam leapt forward to support him when he cried out and fell back into the metal sled.

“You wanna try the less stubborn route this time, Jones?” Emma chided.

Liam laughed tightly, but sobered up quickly when Killian didn’t have a quick retort.

“Let us do the heavy lifting this time, little brother.”

Killian’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t try to move again.  

“I think you mean younger,” he whispered and then paused.  “And I thought you always said I wasn’t heavy?”

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Liam argued back.

It took longer than Emma would have liked, and with a lot more cursing on everyone’s parts, but they eventually got him standing.  With one arm over Liam’s shoulders and Emma’s fingers snagged in his belt loops, Killian almost looked like he was able to stand on his own.

“One step at a time, Jones,” she reminded them both when Killian staggered forward.  “We’ve got you.”

“He should be in a hospital,” Liam seethed.

“I can hear you, brother,” Killian pointed out breathlessly.

“Yes, well you’re clearly incapable of making smart decisions right now, so you don’t get a vote,” Liam hissed back.

Emma could hear the worry in his voice, barely masked under the anger.  She felt Killian bristle beneath her grip and rushed to explain the situation as best she could.

“Safe here, Liam,” Killian cajoled when she was done, limping up the steps to the porch.

Liam growled, but stopped arguing.  “Aye, little brother.  You’re safe here.  Let’s get you inside.”

The inside of the cabin was just as rustic as she’d imagined.  There was a wood-burning stove in one corner of the kitchen and a fireplace ringed by well-loved furniture and bookshelf after bookshelf in the living room.  There were a few doors off the main room and the wooden beams were decorated with garland that had seen better days.

“This first door’s my room, but the back one’s his.”  Liam nodded his head towards the tightly closed door as they moved carefully past the couches.

Killian whined, looking longingly towards the living room.

“Bed, little brother,” Liam ordered.  “I don’t want you falling off the couch.  Again.”

Killian glared but stumbled towards his room anyway.

Emma lifted the latch on the door and let it swing inwards, taking in the dark blues and the light wood that filled Killian’s room.  They sidled through the doorway and Liam transferred Killian’s weight to her as he moved to turn down the well-worn quilt and thick blankets.

Killian groaned as he was lowered down onto the mattress but then flopped down onto his side and was nearly unconscious again before they could get him settled.

“I’ll get the medical kit we keep on hand if you can get him all the way in bed?” Liam asked gently.

Emma nodded silently, shivering slightly.

“There’s more blankets in the closet if you’re chilled, lass.”

“Emma,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off Killian.

“Pleased to finally meet you, Emma,” Liam whispered back before leaving the room.

Killian’s eye fluttered open as she unlaced his boots and swung his feet up under the sheets.  “‘M all bloody,” he complained, trying to rise again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma scolded, her hand on his shoulder.  “Liam and I will get you all cleaned up.”

He mumbled something, but it was lost as he drifted off.

Hours later, with the burns and lacerations and bruises swathed in gauze and the clothes he’d been worried about staining his sheets long gone, Killian rested comfortably under a mountain of blankets and pillows.  His head canted to one side, soft snores coming from his mouth as he slept.  Liam was sitting on the far side of the bed, one hand resting on Killian’s shoulder as he, too, dozed in the late evening’s peace.

Emma worried.

This wasn’t the end of things.  Killian was still in danger.  Liam was in danger, now, because Emma had brought Killian here.  Hades wouldn’t take losing his leverage lightly.

But there was nothing to do at the moment but keep the Jones brothers safe.  And that started with getting Killian to heal.

When a shiver coursed through Killian, shaking her hand as it carded through his hair, Emma reached out to tuck the blankets more tightly around his shoulders.

Hades hadn’t counted on one thing - Emma Swan protected those she loved, and she’d never failed.

He didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Awareness came slowly, the pervasive feeling of safety allowing Killian to wake in increments.  Everything was a little fuzzy, but as his senses came back to him, one thing remained clear - he could take his time without having to worry.  Smell came first - wood smoke and pine and a hint of something distinctly winter.  It wasn’t the ocean, but that combination of smells was nearly perfect.  Then came hearing - he wasn’t alone, but the even breaths to his left and the soft snores to his right were both familiar to him.  These two would watch his back until he could do it himself.  Feeling - a soft mattress, warm blankets, and - best of all - no bonds holding him captive.  His mouth tasted like someone had stuffed a week-old sock in it.  Finally, Killian cracked open the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut and looked around.  He saw that Emma and Liam were both asleep in his room at the cabin.

Safe.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out or, really, how he’d gotten to the cabin in the first place.  The last thing he remembered was trying to curl himself into the back of Emma’s horrendous vehicle, trying to ignore everything that hurt and focus on what didn’t.

He was pretty sure even his hair hurt.

Killian tried to shift in the bed without waking either Emma or Liam.  Judging by the muted light in the room, it was painfully early - even for him.  He didn’t need to move far, only just enough to dislodge the rumpled sheet from where it was assaulting one of Hades’ goons favorite spot to kick.

“Are you all right?” Emma’s voice fluttered through the calm.

Killian rolled his head on the pillow so he could see her with his good eye.  “Aye, luv.  Go back to sleep.”

“I think that’s my line,” she said with a soft smile.  “But seriously, with all the pills Liam got you to swallow, you should be sleeping for hours yet.  What’s up?”

Killian rolled his head back to glare at his brother.  

Liam’s eyes met his in the darkness and he shrugged.  “You needed the rest, little brother,” was his only response.  

Killian resisted the urge to mutter mockingly back at him.

“Just a mite sore,” he allowed when Emma continued to stare at him beseechingly.  “I think my back is protesting the sheets.”

Emma rose swiftly, but Killian managed to free a hand from the mess of blankets covering him to hold her off.  “Really, Swan, go back to sleep.”

Emma looked over his head and Killian resisted the urge to try and see what his brother was clearly pantomiming from the other side of the bed.  It would take too much effort, really.  Whatever Liam had said to her, it was enough that she settled down on the side of Killian’s bed, resting her back against the headboard.  Killian wouldn’t admit it, but her closer proximity settled him even further.  As she started to run her fingers through his hair, Killian found it harder and harder to keep his eye open.  The last thing he remembered was hearing Liam settle back down into his chair and mutter something that he didn’t quite catch.

Hours later, the sun streaming through the crack in the curtains of his window roused Killian once more.  Emma was sound asleep next to him, her body partially curled towards him while she still sat mostly upright.  He could feel her fingers still tangled in his hair, as if the soothing motion that had lulled him back to sleep had also soothed her enough to rest.

The smell of bacon caught his attention and Killian couldn’t help looking over to where Liam had been sitting, still a little surprised to find the chair empty.  Before he could think too much on it, a glass of water on his bedside table caught his eye.  Slowly, trying not to wake Emma, he shifted until he could focus on it.  Only then did he see the folded piece of paper with his brother’s familiar scrawl in all capital letters:

_**DON’T ARGUE WITH ME.  TAKE THE PILLS.** _

Killian scoffed and eyed the small white pills skeptically.  The way he was positioned on the bed, it would be nearly impossible to reach the medicine and the water without shifting or sitting up entirely.  Surprising himself, Killian realized that he _wanted_ the painkillers, not afraid to let himself float on the haze they would bring.  He was sure that Hades didn’t know where they were, the cabin was too well hidden in their records for him to find.

Without warning, a bout of nausea assaulted him and Killian found himself struggling to sit up and get out of bed.  A bucket was shoved unceremoniously in his lap out of nowhere, but Killian was unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth as his stomach tried to empty itself of the nothing that was inside.  He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, and didn’t really want to think about the breakfast Liam was cooking anymore.

Emma’s hand ghosted over his shoulder blades as if she were trying to comfort him but afraid to hurt him.  He appreciated the effort as he hugged the bucket to his chest, trying to brace his ribs as best he could while he continued to dry heave.  Vaguely, Killian was aware of Liam entering the room and sitting on his other side, holding him close and acting as best he could as a human splint.

Killian heaved a few more times before he slumped over, completely spent and letting Liam hold him up.  Emma unwrapped his arms from the bucket and replaced it with a pillow that he hugged to his chest.  The soft cushion was heavenly, supporting Killian from the front as Liam lowered him back down until he was propped up on several more pillows.  Emma wiped the sweat from his forehead before letting Killian take the damp cloth on his own to wipe his mouth and just breathe into the terrycloth for a few seconds.

When he pulled the washcloth away, Liam was holding the glass of water and a few crackers.  Killian looked around the room suspiciously, wondering how they’d managed to get all those supplies into his room while he slept.  He was usually a much lighter sleeper, even when he was injured.

“It’s all right, Killian,” Liam murmured as he sipped at the tepid water.  “Just go slow.”

Killian nodded weakly, swishing the water around his mouth to try and get rid of the cottony feeling.  When he had drained half the glass, Liam held out the pills that had been forgotten in the melee.

“Take these and then try the crackers,” Liam ordered.

Killian rolled his head on the pillow again, lamenting the loss of his brother’s steady presence pressed against his side.  As if he could read minds suddenly, Liam sank down on the mattress until his hip was just grazing Killian’s elbow.

“We’ve got you, little brother.  Just take the pills and sleep.”

Killian nodded, holding out his hand shakily to accept the painkillers.  Liam tipped them into his hand, but had to help him lift his arm long enough to get them into his mouth.  He followed those up with a bigger gulp of water than his ribs were ready for.  God, he hurt everywhere.  The room was tilting a little sickeningly, and Killian wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep.  The blankness of sleep was much more enticing than figuring out how he’d gotten from that warehouse to his bed.

He accepted the crackers warily, chewing them slowly and batting back the thought of bringing them back up, not sure his pain tolerance could handle another bout of sickness so soon.  Thankfully, they seemed to settle his stomach a little bit and, once he’d finished the glass of water, he relaxed against the pillows.  If his head tilted a little more than strictly necessary towards his brother’s warmth, no one said anything.

It didn’t take long, with his lowered defenses and the medicine, for him to drift off again.

* * *

“What haven’t you told me?” Liam rounded on Emma as soon as Killian was snoring softly in the room.  He took the bucket from her feet and glared down at her, needing to know if his little brother was safe, if whoever had hurt him was coming.

If he would get the chance to enact a little revenge.

Emma looked at him warily, far more guarded now than she had been as they’d worked in tandem to get Killian settled and cleaned up the night before.  “I don’t know what you mean,” she deflected, standing herself and smoothing the blankets carefully over Killian’s chest.  She looked at him fondly, reaching out to brush a wayward lock of hair off Killian’s forehead.  

“I mean,” he growled, resisting the urge to fix the blankets Emma had just moved, “that I need to know what’s coming next.  I need to know exactly what I have to protect my brother from.”

“Fire and brimstone, probably,” Emma snarked under her breath, shooing him towards the door.

Liam balked, but relented quickly when Killian shifted in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open as he muttered something unintelligible.  They both froze until he fell back into slumber and then they slipped out of the room.  Liam left the door open so he could hear if his brother needed anything, but he needed answers almost as much as he needed to see that Killian was still all right.

Emma waited until they’d reached the living room.  She started idly opening drawers and cabinets, looking for who knew what.  Finally, she started talking.  “You know about Gold, about  what I’m… what _we’re_ investigating him for.  We started to realize some time back that he was being backed by Gregory Hades.  As far as I can tell, Killian found something and went to check it out on his own.”  Emma paused and Liam tried to keep the horror off his face. 

He very clearly failed.  “Hades did… that?”

Emma looked at him strangely, and Liam wondered exactly what she was reading on his face.  She couldn’t possibly know that… no, of course not.  No one knew about that.  Except for maybe…

“What aren’t _you_ telling me?” Emma turned the question around on him and Liam nearly balked.

_Calm down, you bloody_ fool. _Don’t give yourself away like some suspect in interrogation,_ he thought angrily at himself.  “Not what I asked, Emma.  I want to know what you’ve gotten my brother into.”

“Is this like the protective big brother talk where you want to know if I’m good enough for Killian?” Emma asked him and he latched onto the deflection.

Liam shook his head.  “No.  Because I already know you’re not good enough for him.”

“What?” she asked incredulously.

“Killian blames himself for Milah’s death, but I was there that night.  I know what happened.”  Liam forced the memories of that night back into a box and locked it securely.  “And now this, him getting kidnapped and beaten.  Bringing him here instead of to a hospital.”

“He insisted!” Emma defended her actions.

“Aye, and he was clearly in a right state to do so,” Liam snarked.  “You should have done what was best for him.”

“I thought I _was_.  Maybe it was a mistake, but it’s one that he and I both made.  I was trying to save his life!”

Liam looked over to her, trying to maintain his nonchalance and not give into the anger he’d felt at seeing Killian unconscious in her car.  “Instead, you may as well have pushed him off a cliff.  He could have-”

“Are you always this self-righteous?” she interrupted him, taking a step forward to crowd him

“When it comes to my brother, yes.”  There were a lot of faults that Liam would scoff at or ignore - being concerned with his brother’s well-being wasn’t one of them.  “If he can take down Gold, then he’ll forgive himself.  He can move on.  When that happens, stop thinking about your own career and your own desires and leave him be.”

Emma broke eye contact then, looking down and away.  He had almost escaped when she stopped him in his tracks.  “I know you’re hiding something.  I don’t care that you’re hiding it from me; I’ll find out what it is one way or another.  But Killian worships the ground you walk on.  He thinks that you’re a much better man than him.  I don’t know if I can believe it.  Not looking at you now.  You’re his hero; he doesn’t think you can do any wrong.  If you’re hiding it from him, too, then I’m not the only one who needs to let him go.”

She walked out of the living room through the front door, closing it quietly despite the fury radiating off of her.  Liam could feel the silence of the cabin bearing down on him, and he swallowed back the regret her parting words had left behind.

Killian would forgive him if he found out what Liam had done.

He hoped.

 


	12. Friendly Fire

Killian woke slowly, the silence of his bedroom pulling him from a dream he couldn’t quite remember.  It had involved Emma, a field of flowers, and an amazing coat that had made him look devilishly handsome.  And then it hadn’t involved very much clothing at all.

_I could have lost you!_ she’d shouted at him - and God, was she beautiful when she was angry.  And she cared for him.  For _him_.  He’d had a lot of time to think, tied up in that warehouse between beatings.  He knew what he felt for her - knew that whatever it was, he hadn’t felt anything like it before.  Not even with Milah.  It was simpler, somehow, than it had been with Milah.  Even the sneaking around was different.  Milah had craved freedom; Emma had it.

Yes, what he felt for Emma was new; it was heady.  And it was possible - likely, even - that she felt the same way.

Raised voices.  Emma and Liam were arguing again.  Whatever it was, they were keeping it well away from him, both of them brushing off any concern he’d voiced on the subject over the past few days.  Killian didn’t like it.  He was falling for Emma, falling hard, and he wasn’t sure he could survive another relationship if Liam didn’t approve.  Not again.  He didn’t want to have to-

“Hey,” Emma interrupted his thoughts before they could spiral completely.  “You’re awake.”

He shrugged, watching as she came fully into the room and sat on the edge of the mattress.  He could feel the heat of her pressed against his hip.  He wanted her closer. 

“Let me take a look at you,” Emma said, reaching out to brush his hair away from his face.  

Killian’s eyes fluttered at the touch, leaning into the warmth of Emma’s hand.  “Are you sure you want to?  Hades sort of knocked the handsome out of me,” he deflected.

“No one’s _that_ powerful,” she snarked with a soft smile.  “How are you feeling?”

“What’s going on?” Killian asked instead, looking over towards the door.

“I just checked in with Mills,” Emma waved the satellite phone at him.  “Gold is acting as if you aren’t even missing from work.  It’s like he doesn’t have a care in the world.  I’d have thought Nolan and Locksley would be scrambling to keep your job for you.”

His job.  He hadn’t even thought about that.  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he shrugged.

“What?”

Killian pushed himself up in the bed gingerly, masking the groan that wanted to escape and resting against the headboard. Almost immediately, he wished that he hadn’t moved.  “It’s… even after we take him down, I don’t… I just don’t know if I want to keep doing this.”

“ _What_?” she asked again, sounding even more incredulous this time.

“I thought that taking him down, finally getting justice for Milah… I thought it would mean something.  I thought it would… _fix_ something.”   _Fix me_ , he didn’t say aloud.

From the look on Emma’s face, he didn’t have to say it.

Getting his revenge on Gold just wasn’t as important anymore.  It had almost cost him everything.  He might have died in his quest to take out Milah’s murderer and what would it have accomplished?

Milah would still be gone and, worse, Liam and Emma would be-

“Emma, what are you telling him?” Liam asked hotly from the door.

-left to their own devices.  They’d probably kill each other.

Emma scowled, not bothering to mask her annoyance from Killian.  He cocked his head to the side, trying to figure the two of them out.  He’d really thought that Liam would _like_ Emma - poor taste in organizational tactics aside - and while he wasn’t a schoolboy with a crush looking for his brother’s approval any longer, it stung to think he wouldn’t get it.

“Nothing he doesn’t need to know,” she replied cryptically, smirking over her shoulder at his brother.  Killian couldn’t see the look on her face, not entirely, but he could see Liam’s upper lip rise into a sneer.  Trying to keep the peace between them, Killian reached out to snag the ends of Emma’s hair.  He tugged lightly, causing her to turn back around and Liam to cock an eyebrow.

“We were talking about what kind of benefits you’ll set me up with if I take you up on that job offer, brother,” he said quietly, with a smile that he was sure didn’t reach his eyes.

Liam just blinked.

Emma glared.  At him, at Liam, at the wall.  He had a feeling that, no matter what else happened, they weren’t done with this conversation.

“You want to come work with me?” Liam sounded awestruck, as if the possibility that his little brother would accept working together again had never actually occurred to him.

Killian was starting to wonder why he hadn’t just left when Liam did.  That was all he’d ever wanted, wasn’t it?  The Jones brothers against the world?  It sounded better and better with every passing moment.  “Aye, brother.”

“What about Locksley?”

_Oh._

Killian shrugged.  He didn’t have it all worked out yet, anyway.

Emma stood suddenly, forcing Killian to drop his fingers from where they were still tangled in her hair lest he hurt her.  She stormed from the room, pausing only just long enough to whisper something hotly in Liam’s ear.  Killian could just make it out.

“Don’t you dare upset him now.”

He blinked.   _What the hell?_

“How are you feeling, little brother?” Liam asked disarmingly when Emma was out of sight.  He held a bottle of water in his hands and passed it back and forth idly, watching the movement rather than meeting Killian’s eyes.

“What’s going on, Liam?” Killian asked beseechingly.  He hated being kept in the dark.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

Liam came further into the room, holding out the water before taking Emma’s place at his hip.  Killian accepted the bottle, the coolness in his hands distracting him for a moment.  He resisted the urge to press the plastic to his still swollen eye, not wanting to give Liam a chance to mother him rather than _talk_ to him. Instead, Killian twisted off the top and gulped down some of the cool liquid.  It tasted off, but everything did with the cuts in his mouth still stinging.

“Why now?” Liam asked instead of answering his questions.

Killian shook his head.  He knew that he wouldn’t get any answers out of his brother until Liam was ready to give them.  “It just…” he sighed.

“Killian,” Liam prompted when he didn’t continue.

“I thought it was worth it, worth… torturing myself.  Worth letting _Gold_ torture me day after day.”  He paused.  “It’s not.”

Liam smiled sadly.  “You love what you do.”

“I _like_ what I do.  I don’t love it.  Not anymore.  I can do more good at your side than I’ll ever do with all the red tape and the underhanded dealing that goes on right beneath our noses.”  Killian huffed, then shook his head.  “Even with people like Emma, like _you_ on the force, it’s not… there’s too many side deals and… and deception for it to be worth it anymore.”

Liam looked stricken and it was such an incongruous look with what Killian expected that he pushed himself fully upright, reaching for his brother’s arm.  “Liam?” he asked, nearly begging for an answer.  For his brother to just _trust_ him.

But Liam just shook his head, brushing off the look and smiling brightly - too brightly.  “I’d love to have you come aboard, little brother.  We’ll get you out of this mess and then we’ll get you a desk and some new cases to work, all right?”

Killian squinted, but whatever had caused that look was buried so deeply that it would take a lot more prodding than he was prepared for at the moment.  He had to admit that, no matter the reason behind it, just the thought of working with Liam again was enough to boost his spirit.

And to help him remember that he _hated_ being stuck in bed.

Liam seemed to anticipate his escape plan and pinned him in bed with one hand.  “Just rest, little brother,” he ordered with a glare that would make lesser men cower.

Killian just smirked.  “I think you mean younger, brother.”

Liam rolled his eyes at the familiar admonishment.  “Sure I did,” he replied before smoothing the covers over Killian’s chest.

Killian resisted the urge to bristle, but only barely.  It didn’t help that his eyes were drooping shut against his best intentions.  He growled menacingly over his brother’s quiet laughter, but never heard if Liam left the room before he fell asleep.

* * *

“What the _bloody hell_ was that?” Liam hiss-shouted as soon as Killian’s door shut behind him.  He was red in the face and seething, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Emma stood swiftly from where she was crouched by the fireplace.  If Liam was spoiling for another fight, then she would give it to him - but on even footing.  “Keep your voice _down_!” she hissed back, throwing a meaningful glare over his shoulder.

Liam just shrugged.  “I dosed his water.  He’ll be out for hours now.”

Emma wanted to be mad on Killian’s behalf; she _did_.  But she also knew it was probably the only way the stubborn bastard would sleep.  Her brain too slow to keep up with her mouth, Emma spluttered for a bit before crossing her arms and pouting.  “What the bloody hell was _what_?” she asked, trying and failing to imitate Liam’s accent.

“I thought we agreed not to stress him out further,” Liam retorted, still sneering.  “And then I walk in the room and you’ve got him convinced that I’m up to something.”

Emma began to pace.  “Your brother is a detective, Liam, in case you failed to notice.  And he’s a damn good one, too.  I-”

“You don’t have to defend my brother to _me_ , Miss Swan!  That’s been my job far longer than you’ve held the title.”

“Then _do it_!” she shouted, heedless of whether or not she’d wake Killian.  Liam was being an insufferable bastard and she wasn’t going to stand for it any longer.  “You say you want to protect him but you won’t tell him the truth!”

Liam took a step forward to loom over her; Emma took her own step forward, determined not to be cowed.  “Because the truth would shatter him.  I _am_ protecting him.  It’s all I’ve ever done.  If I tell him the truth, he won’t…” he trailed off, the anger in his face draining alarmingly quickly.

“For what it’s worth, he worships the ground you walk on,” she assured quietly.  “He’ll be angry, but you won’t lose him.”

“Yes,” he assured her with a conviction that left no room for doubt, “I will.”

Emma’s shoulders slumped, the fight leaching out of her as well.  “I don’t think that’s possible, but you’re right about one thing - he’s not in the right frame of mind right now to find out what happened.”

Liam shook his head, stepping back and turning away.  “No, he’s not.  I love my brother, Emma; I’d do anything for him.  Even if it means losing him.  But I won’t be the one who hurts him with this.  Not if I can help it.”

Emma shook her head helplessly.  “He won’t find out about it from me, but… Liam, wouldn’t it be better if he heard about it from _you_?  What happens if Hades or some other bastard gets ahold of him again?”

“I won’t let them.”

“You might not have a choice.  What happens if he hears from _Hades_ what you’ve done?  What you’re still-”

“I’m _not_!” Liam shouted again.  “Don’t you understand, Emma?  That’s probably… _I’m_ probably the reason he’s lying in that bed right now, all beat to Hell and back.  I told Hades I wouldn’t… Emma…”

Emma stepped forward, her hand falling to Liam’s shoulder hesitantly.  Liam Jones was not his brother; she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with him like she was with Killian.  He gave her a wan smile, but didn’t shake her off.

“It’s not your fault, Liam,” she tried to assure him, but it came out flat.  “Whatever Hades did, he did for his own gain.  You didn’t-”

“I did.”  Liam didn’t let her say more than that, just shook his head sadly and walked towards the door.  “He’ll sleep for awhile yet, but let me know if my brother needs anything, yeah?”

Emma nodded sadly.  “He needs _you_ , Liam.”

The echoing slam of the door was the only response Emma got.

***

“Emma?” Killian called out some time later.  She had no idea how long she’d been standing there, staring at the door and listening to the sound of Liam’s ax falling again and again.  She could see him, just beyond the window, piling the wood as he chopped it and occasionally staring back at the cabin like it held all the answers.

Emma thought sourly that it _did_.

“Swan?” Killian tried again, this time getting her to turn around.

She started.  She’d expected to see his closed door.  Emma didn’t expect to see _Killian_ held up by the doorframe and the stubborn glint in his eye.  “Son of a bitch!  Killian, get back in _bed_!” she shouted to cover up the worry.

Killian smiled weakly, but didn’t try to move.  “Don’t let Liam hear you insult our mother like that, Swan,” he said, a bit breathlessly.  Emma watched as he swayed dangerously before getting a better grip on the door and steadying his feet underneath him.

“Jesus, Killian, what are you doing?” she asked hotly, moving across the room swiftly to duck under his arm and shoulder his weight.

He sagged in her grip, his head coming to rest on her own for a moment before his fingers tangled in her shirt.  “Got sick of staring at the same four walls.  What’re _you_ doing?  Where’s Liam?”

The rhythmic thunk of the ax picked up again and Killian’s head rose from Emma’s to zero in on his brother.  “You two fighting again?”

Emma shook her head.  “Don’t worry about us.  Let me help you to the couch.”

Killian huffed out his disbelief at her brush off, but limped towards the worn out couch with more weight leaning on Emma than he probably intended.  He was out of breath by the time he got there, but there was still color on his cheeks and his eyes were bright for the first time in days.

“Liam said you’d be out for hours,” Emma said almost in complaint when she’d gotten him settled and had found a blanket to drape over his shoulders.

Killian scoffed.  “I was out for too long as it was.  Bloody bastard slipped it into the water, didn’t he?”

“You need the rest, Killian.”

He shook his head.  “We need to stop Gold and find Hades.  Swan, they-”

“I know.  We _will_.  All three of us,” she promised.  “But you won’t do either of us any good if you collapse on your feet.”

Killian scoffed.  “It’ll take a lot more than a little beating to keep me from finally taking that bloody bastard down.  Emma, I-”

“I _know_ , Killian,” she said again.

He deflated, shoulders sagging as he nearly disappeared into the couch cushions.  “I’ve been waiting so long for this.  I’m just… I’m tired of it all, luv.  I just want it to be done.”

“So what are you saying?” Emma asked.  “That when this is all over, you’re going to… what?  Quit?”

Killian nodded.  “I just… I miss my brother, Emma.  Everything else… it doesn’t matter.”

“Of _course_ it matters!”  Emma shouted, making even Killian jump.  She heard the ax outside stop falling and knew she was on borrowed time.  “Killian, you’ve done good here.  For so many people.  If you give in now, if you let Gold win - even as he loses - damnit, Killian, don’t let him beat you!  That’s what he wants!”

Killian looked away, but not before she saw the broken look in his eyes.

“Here’s the thing,   This doesn’t have to be the end.  You can finish this and go back to work and do some real good there.  You just have to forgive yourself.”  Emma paused, but Killian refused to meet her eyes.  “Thing is, no matter how many times I tell you, or anybody else does, you have to do it yourself.”

She stood before he could say anything, stalking out of the room and ignoring the pull in her heart to go back.  To make him understand.  To force him to see what she saw in him.

She couldn’t turn around.

“Killian!”  Liam’s shout twenty minutes later brought Emma sprinting back into the living room.  He was standing in the doorway, snow blanketing his shoulders and steam rising - quite literally - from his hair.  If he didn’t look so angry, Emma would have found it funny.

Killian was still sitting on the couch, looking sheepish and trying to melt into the cushions.  He had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, still, and looked every part the ‘little’ brother he routinely chided Liam for calling him.

“He’s fine, Liam.  Leave him alone.”  Emma wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak, to defend Killian from perhaps the one person in the world - aside from her - who he didn’t need defending from.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Miss Swan,” Liam said, clearly falling completely into overprotective brother mode.  He dismissed her with a succinct shake of his head and moved to Killian’s side.

“Brother, don’t be an ass,” Killian warned, ducking his head out of reach and looking for Emma.  His eyes were red and he looked lost.  Emma almost broke her resolve and went to him, but stood her ground.  He needed to be a little lost before he could find himself again.

“What did you tell him?” Liam seethed again, and Emma rolled her eyes.

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Liam.  If you don’t want Killian to know what’s going on, then maybe you should stop telling him that something’s going on.”

* * *

Killian glanced back and forth between the two of them before Emma stalked out the door with a brisk, “Going for supplies.  I’ll be back,” and nearly tore _his_ jacket off the coat hooks.  She grabbed her keys as well and Killian wanted nothing more than to get up and go after her.

Every muscle in his body protested even the _thought_ of movement.

_She won’t go far,_ he thought.  He _hoped._

Liam didn’t move from the doorway - looking like a bloody fool snowman - until Emma shoved him out of the way.  Only then did his older brother shut the door and come to sit down next to him.

“You really shouldn’t be out of bed, you know.”

Killian wanted bonus points from whoever was keeping score for not rolling his eyes.  He deserved them.  “What’s going on with you and Emma?” he asked, staring Liam down and wishing he had both of them in the same room to hash this out.

Liam leaned back against the arm of the couch and adopted an easy smile.  It set Killian’s teeth on edge.  “She thinks I’m hiding something from you.”

“That’s preposterous,” he exclaimed without even having to think about it.  His brother wouldn’t lie - especially not to _him_.

But Liam dropped his gaze to his shoes and started to fidget with the ring around his neck.  Killian had never seen him take it off.  Liam stared at that ring for longer than Killian’s patience cold handle.  The echo of Emma’s engine faded into the distance before Liam finally spoke. 

“Killian, you trust me, right?” he asked, a hesitant tone in his voice that Killian had never heard before.

“Aye, you know I do.”  It was something else he didn’t even need to think about.

Liam nodded, but it was a sad little thing.  “Then can you trust that whatever Emma thinks she knows, I did it with the best of intentions?”  He didn’t look up, but lifted the ring over his head and handed it over.

Killian’s brow wrinkled, pulling at cuts and bruises and making him wince.  The metal was warm in his hands, but he still didn’t know what to make of any of this.  He slipped the chain over his head, the thunk of the ring against his chest feeling like an anchor - steadying him and weighing him down all at the same time.  “Aye.  Liam, what’s going on?”

“That is the question of the day, isn’t it, Detective Jones?”  Gold’s voice came out of nowhere, making both Killian and Liam whip their heads around and stare in disbelief as their commanding officer walked out of the back bedroom, snow in his hair and a 9MM service weapon pointed at them.

Killian’s head spun, his thoughts whirling a mile a minute.  How?  Why?  Where was Emma?  How could he get Liam out of this before Gold used him as a pawn?

How did Gold find them in the first place?

Using the back of the couch to his advantage, Killian slipped a pistol from the small of his back to Liam’s lap.  He could just about read Liam’s mind, the fear for the situation and the adrenaline already making his brother’s hands start to shake.  Liam didn’t want the gun, that much was sure; Killian knew he didn’t trust himself with it.  But Gold was there and he was holding a weapon on them and Killian needed to be sure that his brother could protect himself.  His brother glared at him, eyes widening a second later as his nostrils flared. 

Whether Liam was more afraid of Gold or what Killian was going to do about it, he couldn’t tell.

Standing slowly with his hands clearly empty in front of him, Killian willed away the sharp pains and the exhausting aches that had nearly overcome him already.  He took a step away from the couch - away from Liam - ignoring the frustrated snarl that his brother couldn’t bite back.

The business end of Gold’s weapon followed Killian.  Perfect.

Liam made to stand as well, but Gold tutted at him and made a show of flipping off the safety with a pointed look.  His aim never left Killian.  “Sit.  Down.”

Liam sat.

“Very good, Captain,” Gold patronized, smirking like a cat who’d caught a canary.  “Too bad you couldn’t be more like your brother, Lieutenant.  Learn to follow orders like a good little minion.”

Killian snarled, visions of leaping across the room to strangle the bastard threatening his brother playing through his mind.  Every cracked rib and laceration throbbed at him in response.  His knee was barely holding him up as it was.  He’d have to be smart about all this.

Or else he might get Liam killed.

“What do you want, Gold?” he bit out, trying to keep the attention away from Liam.  To buy time.  For Swan, for him to come up with a plan, for Liam to run.

Well, Hell would freeze over before that last one happened.

Gold shrugged, unaware or uncaring of the strife pinching Killian’s gut.  “I’ve nothing left to lose.  You’ve taken everything from me - my wife, my family, my career.  The least I can do is repay the favor.”

The nose of the weapon angled back towards Liam and Killian took a staggering step forward.  “Leave him alone.  He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, hasn’t he?” Gold taunted, finally breaking eye contact with Killian to leer at Liam.  “Would you like to tell him, or shall I?”

“He won’t believe a _bloody_ word you’ll say, you bastard,” Liam snarled, launching himself to his feet and drawing both Killian and Gold’s full and undivided attention.

“Liam-” Killian croaked, reaching out a hand towards his brother though there were meters between them.  “Sit down, please.”

Liam didn’t answer, his piercing stare daring Gold to speak.

“You should listen to your little brother, Captain.”  Gold ignored the threat in Liam’s eyes.  “You won’t be so high and mighty once he knows the truth.  Will he ever speak to you again, I wonder?”

“Liam?” Killian questioned, not daring to take his eyes off Gold, but begging his brother to explain all the same.

“It’s nothing, Killian.  Ignore him.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Gold sneered.  “Ignore the man with the gun and the truth.  Sound advice from a washed up cop.”

Killian tensed, adrenaline flowing easily with the insult to Liam.  Gold was still staring at Liam, the two of them locked in a contest of wills and leaving Killian left out.  He took slow, measured steps forward, careful not to draw anyone’s attention to his movements. 

“That’s far enough, Lieutenant,” Gold commanded without taking his eyes off Liam.  “We wouldn’t want you to do anything brash until you’ve heard the truth.  Didn’t you wonder why Hades didn’t just _kill you_ once he had you in that warehouse?  Didn’t you wonder why it was so easy to escape?  Don’t you know what your brother’s done for you?”

Killian’s head whipped around so fast he saw stars.  Liam was looking at the carpet, the walls, anywhere to avoid Killian’s gaze.

“Liam?” he questioned hesitantly.  “What’s he talking about?”

Liam looked bereft.  “I didn’t know he’d taken you, Killian.  You have to know that I’d have come looking if I did.”

“Of course,” Killian agreed automatically.  He knew Liam hadn’t known.  He’d only sent that one text to Emma and if she hadn’t followed the breadcrumbs he’d left, he wouldn’t be standing - well, slumping was a more accurate description - here now.

“I told him I wasn’t going to keep his secrets anymore.”  Liam’s voice was pitched so low that Killian could barely hear him.

The words still echoed in his ears as if they’d been shouted through a megaphone.

“What?”

Liam tried to look up, but couldn’t.  To Killian, it looked as though the hand of Zeus, himself, was pushing down on Liam’s shoulders, the weight of whatever he was talking about nearly crushing him.

“Liam, talk to me,” Killian pleaded, nearly forgetting Gold entirely as he stepped forward again.

His knees nearly buckled when Gold reached out and wrapped an arm around Killian’s neck, the cold steel of his gun pressed against his temple.

“No!” Liam shouted, taking a step towards them that was aborted nearly before it began when Gold started to squeeze the trigger.

“Ah, ah, ah, Captain,” Gold warned.  “Don’t want to cause any more accidents with your brother, do we?  Wouldn’t want his blood on your hands, after all.  Not after how much of your soul you’ve sold to keep him safe.”

“Liam, please,” Killian begged, but he didn’t even know what he was asking for.  An answer, for his brother to just listen, for Liam to just let Gold do what he wanted.

Everything seemed wrong.

“You don’t have to do this, Gold,” Liam tried, his hands up in supplication as he took a step backwards.  Nonthreatening, cooperative, all the things they taught in the Academy about engaging a violent suspect.

Gold snickered in Killian’s ear, turning them so he could back them up towards the door.

“We can make a deal,” Liam cried, and Killian could hear the desperation creeping into his tone.  “You always had an ear for a good deal; that’s what Hades always said.”

_What?!_

Killian’s feet stopped moving, making the hold around his neck tighten and cutting off his air supply.  It felt like Liam’s revelation had done that long before.  “You know _Hades_?!” he managed to croak out, eyes wide and disbelief coloring every word as everything started to sink in.

Liam looked away, shame making his cheeks go red and his shoulders slump.  “Killian, you don’t understand.  I didn’t-”

“Either you know the man who sits atop our Most Wanted list or you don’t, Brother,” Killian cut him off, not wanting to believe that his brother, that _Liam_ of all people, could be dirty.

Gold giggled in his ear, forcing them back another step out onto the porch.  “This is so much more fun than I could have imagined!  Does it sting, Jones?  Knowing that your sainted brother is no better than the man you despise?  Tell me, tell me what you’re feeling.  How much does it hurt?”

Killian bristled.  It didn’t matter what Gold said; he would never believe that Liam was the same as him.  Liam was… this was some kind of mistake.  Some kind of nightmare.  _This_ was why he didn’t want to take those bloody pills.

But no.  Everything hurt too much for this to be a dream.

“Liam,” he begged again.

Liam wouldn’t… _couldn’t_ meet his eyes.  “I won’t apologize, Killian.  Not when it kept you alive.  Kept you safe.”

“Aww, it’s twue wuv,” Gold sneered mockingly, moving the gun from Killian’s temple to sight in on Liam.  “Don’t make another move, Captain, or I’ll drop you where you stand.”

“No!”  Killian shouted, struggling in earnest the second he couldn’t feel the muzzle at his temple.  He had to get free.  He had to make sure Liam was safe.  He had to-

Liam pulled the gun Killian had slipped him and aimed it far above Gold’s head.  Even from where he stood, Killian could see how much Liam’s hands were shaking.  Could see the fear in his eyes.  The anger.  The frustration.

But most of all, the terror.

“It’s all right, Brother,” Killian soothed, stilling his movements and concentrating on Liam.  “It’s going to be all right.”

“How?” Liam breathed - Killian read his lips rather than heard it, and he smiled reassuringly.

“Because you’re my brother.”  He smirked as he shrugged, stumbling when Gold pulled them backwards into the snow.  His socked feet were soaked instantly, and Killian was irrationally worried about the state of his toes.

He didn’t think he’d look good with a peg leg.

Shaking his head away from thoughts of pirates and Caribbean temperatures, Killian blinked away the stars that danced in his vision and concentrated.  All he could hope was that the bloody microphone on his phone was picking all this up.  Emma needed to get back here and help Liam.

“Oh, this is so much fun!” Gold crowed, waving the gun towards Liam.  “A true test of your character, Captain.  Your training tells you what the odds are here.  I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.  You’ve got _everything_ to lose.  What are you going to do, dearie?”

“Shoot the bloody crocodile, Liam.  Do it!”  Killian shouted over Gold’s crazed mumblings.

Liam stared at them helplessly, the gun in his hand shaking violently.  “I… I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.  Liam…” Killian ducked his head a little, trying to catch his brother’s eye.  “Liam, you’re my brother.  I trust you.”

Liam shook his head.  “You shouldn’t.”

“That’s right, dearie,” Gold chortled.  “You shouldn’t trust him.  He’s been deeper in Hades’s pocket than me since I murdered Milah.”

“That’s not true!” Killian hissed, staring at Liam, begging him to dispute Gold.  “That’s impossible.”

Liam’s chin dropped to his chest.  “Killian…”

“Why?”

Liam’s head came up, his hand steadying a bit as he sighted down the gun.  “To protect you from _him_ ,” he hissed, taking a step forward.

Gold swung the gun around until it was pressed against Killian’s temple again.  “Don’t come any closer.  I’ll shoot him and leave you to pick up the pieces.”

Killian tried to pull his head away, tried to sag in Gold’s grasp.  Anything to get free long enough for Liam to end the bastard.  They could figure out everything else later.

Gold was surprisingly strong for having sat behind a desk for years.

“It’s okay, Liam,” Killian assured.  “You’ve got this.  I trust you.”

Liam turned tortured eyes on him, his feet rooted in place and the gun starting to shake once more.  “Killian, I’m-”

“I know.  It’s all right, Brother.”

Liam shook his head, but the grip on his weapon tightened even as his arm continued to tremble.

“What’s it going to be, Captain?  Are you willing to gamble on your brother’s life?  Or are you going to watch me shoot him?”  Gold snickered and waved the gun, pulling it away from Killian’s head just long enough to-

**_BANG!_ **

The shot echoed through the clearing and Killian had just enough time to see the horrified look cross Liam’s face.  Had just enough time to feel Gold fall away behind him.  Had just enough time to smile at his brother, knowing that Gold wouldn’t have let go unless Liam had hit his target.

And then it started to get cold.  
And then the air got thick.  
And then his feet went numb.  
 _Odd,_ he thought, _I thought frostbite hurt._

And then Liam was shouting.  
Killian couldn’t hear him over the pulsing in his ears.  
Everything hurt now, from his frostbitten feet to his chest.

Why?

...

The last thing Killian saw before blackness overtook him was his brother’s tearstained face looming over him, still shouting silently.

* * *

“What did you _do_?”  Emma’s voice echoed through the woods.  How she’d known to come back, he’d never know.  Killian must have called her.

“I… he…” Liam trailed off helplessly before whispering brokenly, “I shot him.”

The look on Emma’s face wasn’t nearly as recriminating as his own thoughts, but it was ice cold nonetheless.  “You… what?  Why would you _shoot_ your own brother?  You’re not even supposed to _have_ a gun any more.  God, Liam, what were you _thinking_?  You know better!  I was on my way!”

She nearly shoved him out of the way trying to get to Killian’s side, and he nearly let her - would have, if not for the blood.  Between his fingers, hot and warm and not stopping, despite the flannel shirt he’d balled up over the neat little hole in Killian’s chest.

God, he’d shot his own brother.

His hands started to shake again, and Liam glared down at them.  That was the problem in the first place, and yet he couldn’t make it stop.  He had to focus.  He had to-

“Oh, move _over_!” Emma shouted in his ear before hip checking him out of the way and pressing her hands down over his.

Killian didn’t make a sound.

“Killian, please...” Liam cut himself off.  He was nearly too terrified to beg his brother to just stay.  Not when voicing it out loud might make it real.  Might mean he was losing Killian.  Might mean he’d failed to protect his little brother.

He didn’t even realize he’d been summarily dismissed from Killian’s care until the sight of his brother’s blood all over his fingers swam into his vision.

Blood.  

There was just so much blood.  He could feel it, dry and stiff on his shirt, sticky and pulling on the palms of his hands, the memory of it hot and coursing through his fingers as he’d tried to keep Killian alive and breathing.   _Here_.  There was just so much blood on his hands because of what he’d done, because of what he’d _failed_ to do.  Keep his little brother safe.  God, that was all he wanted out of this bloody miserable existence that he’d fallen into after he’d been forced to retire from the department.  And now, he’d realized the second the retort of the borrowed weapon had reverberated up his arm, he couldn’t even manage _that_.

There was just so much blood.

Killian had smiled at him before he’d collapsed.  Before the world had come to a screeching halt and Liam had felt as though someone had dropped him into a vat of concrete for how quickly he’d been able to move.  His little brother had smiled at him in pure relief to know that Liam had taken the shot, had likely killed him, if only because it meant that Gold was gone and _Liam_ was safe.

God, he’d only taken the shot to save _Killian_.  Liam would have gladly traded places with his brother if only Gold had afforded him the chance.  But now Killian was bleeding out in the snow, the ambulance might take upwards of a half hour if they didn’t understand his panicked call of officer down, and there was nothing else Liam could do.

“Liam!”

He looked up, startled so badly that he’d nearly reached for the gun.  Emma looked at him, exasperated, and he realized she’d been calling him for quite some time.  “Wh-what?”

“Go inside and find some towels, a blanket, _something_ to keep your brother alive.”

Liam stumbled to his feet, the adrenaline racing through him and making his legs weak.  He crashed to the ground, his knee impacting a jagged rock underneath the snow and nearly making him cry out.

“God _damnit_ , Liam!  Your brother needs you.”  Emma’s glare cut through him, but what she said next nearly finished him.  “You wanted to play the hero before, when you took the shot.  _Be_ his hero now.  Get me some goddamn blankets!”

Liam stared at Emma for only a moment longer, just long enough for the sharp pain in his knee to fade to a pointed ache.  He rushed through the rooms, heading directly for the linen closet and grabbing absolutely everything he could carry.  The ambulance had to be coming soon; they had to get here soon or else... God, or else he'd lose his brother.

He'd have murdered his own brother.

With that thought ringing in his ears, Liam nearly dropped the blankets and sheets in a pile by the front door.  He likely would have if not for whoever took them swiftly out of his hands.  His first emotion that filtered through the shock was anger - sharp and immediate and all-encompassing.  He could do it himself; he was capable of holding onto a load of blankets.  He'd only left Emma with his brother because he thought she'd take care of him, not expecting her to come after _him_.

She hadn't.

Of course she hadn't; she was still with Killian, keeping him alive.

But David had.

"God, is _everyone_ going to get here before the bloody ambulance?" Liam muttered angrily to his partner, watching as Mills hurried out the front door with the blankets, calling for Emma.  "How did _you_ get here?"

Fear gripped him again before he could latch onto the anger and keep it close.  Had David heard something over the scanner?  Did Hades know what was going on?  Were there more men coming?

David gripped his shoulder, leading him towards the front porch and forcing him to sit on the step.  Liam bristled, trying to stand and move back to his brother's side, but David was too strong for him with the way his muscles were shaking.  "In a minute, Jones.  Let them work.  Emma called me."

Liam still tried to stand, cursing himself for not being able to get to Killian.  God, his brother was looking more and more pale, his eyes shut and his body limp.  From where he was sitting Liam couldn't even see if...

If his chest was rising.

"David?" he begged, not knowing what nor how to ask.

David looked grimly over to where Emma and Henry were working.  "He's alive, for now.  Liam, what happened?  How did Gold shoot him?"

Liam blinked.  Emma hadn't told them.  She hadn't told them anything.

"He didn't," he whispered brokenly, staring down at the blood covering his hands.  It had started to dry and cake on his palms, between his fingers, under his nail beds.  God, his little brother's blood was _everywhere_.

And he'd done that to Killian.

"He didn't," Liam whispered again.  " _I_ did."

It was David's turn to blink, his head whipping back from where he watched the grisly scene in front of him to stare at his part- his _former_ partner.  Liam didn’t _have_ a partner anymore.  "Say what now?"

It was the utter disbelief that got to him, more than anything.  Even with the scene right in front of them, even with the evidence that would eventually come out anyway, David didn't believe that he was capable.

Capable of murdering his own brother.

God, he'd killed his little brother.

Liam didn't have time to explain, though, as the sounds of sirens finally started to echo through the trees and David took off over the hill with a firm command to, "Stay, Jones.  Don't move."

As if he was going anywhere.

At least until they moved Killian.

Liam tried to stand again anyway, crashing to his knees when his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer and drawing a glare from Emma.

"Don't you dare make me pick you up out of the snow, Jones," she hissed vehemently.  "I'll leave you there."

Mills looked terrified, pointedly not looking at either of them and pushing down harder on Killian's chest.  

There was just so much blood.  In the snow, on his hands, staining his soul.  Leaking out from his brother.  Killian was just so pale, so still.  And it was all Liam's fault.  He was going to lose his little brother and it was all his fault.

"Ma'am?" Henry muttered hesitantly.  "I don't think he’s breathing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?


	13. Officer Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry...

Liam had always heard that his life would ‘flash before his eyes’ in the moments before he died, but he was swiftly learning that the same applied when it was Killian, cold and still and not breathing in the snow.  He saw his little brother swaddled in blue behind the window of a hospital nursery, then curled against their mother’s chest in their tiny flat - ill with a fever and hoarsely begging for another story. Then he was teaching Killian to ride a bike, their mother long passed on and their father ‘too busy’ to do much of anything with the boys.  He saw Killian’s first goal in football, his first heartbreak after a school dance, his patented smirk when he tossed his graduation cap in the air.

He saw that same smirk, turned into a look of pure relief, when Liam put a bullet in his chest instead of over his shoulder - when he felt Gold fall away from him, dead before he hit the ground.

He saw his little brother’s blood staining the snow.

He saw Emma Swan leaning over his brother to pinch his nose shut and breathe for him again and again. His brother was dead.  His little brother - the boy he’d raised and the man he’d been so proud of every day - was dead.  Killian was gone and it was all his fault.  

Liam crawled, his arms weak and shaky, his legs nearly useless with the adrenaline and the goddamned neurotoxin coursing through him.  He had to get to Killian’s side; he had to see-

“Liam!  Get _back_!”  Emma shouted harshly in his ear, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and yanking him off balance, away from Killian.

He snarled at her, trying to tear away and get to his brother.  He needed to-

The _whoomp_ of the defibrillator stopped Liam from actually trying to assault Emma if it would get her to let him go.  He turned startled, terrified eyes on her, pleading silently for her - or anyone - to tell him that this was a nightmare.  Just a bad dream that he’d wake up from any moment.

“One and two and three and…”

_Not_ a nightmare then.

His little brother’s heart had stopped beating.

Liam was almost positive that his had done the same.

Then David was there, taking over for Emma and pulling Liam back towards the stairs.  “Let them work, Jones.  Let them do their jobs,” he murmured in Liam’s ear over and over.

“David,” his voice broke, not even sure what he meant to say as he crumpled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and crying into his soaking wet jeans.

He heard the defibrillator go off again, didn’t have to look to see Killian’s limp body arch with the electricity flowing through him, and heard the paramedics push more medications and start CPR again.  God, they were doing so much damage to his little brother and what was the point?  Didn’t they know that Liam had killed him?  That he had weighed the odds of his brother’s life in his hands and rolled the dice.

Had come up snake eyes.

But then there was a flurry of activity, people moving in a blur around his brother and, suddenly, Killian wasn’t lying in the snow any more.  He was strapped to a board and being taken away and Liam didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t understand why they were taking his brother away from him.

“There’s a suitable landing site half a mile from here, we can transfer him there.”

“His vitals are thready… don’t know how long we can keep him stable.”

“Whoever shot him sure didn’t do him any favors.”

“We need to move.  Now.”

Liam heard the clipped conversation, but it didn’t really filter through.  Not until one of the men looked over to where he was still collapsed against David’s side.

“He okay?” the medic asked, moving towards the cabin and away from the pair of men carrying Killian away.

He felt David nod, his partner’s hand tight on Liam’s shoulder.  “Nothing you can do for him; he’s just gotta ride it out.”

Liam saw the look on the medic’s face, knew the picture he must be making, shaking like a strung-out addict who had waited too long between fixes.  He didn’t care.

He just wanted his brother.

And couldn’t have him.  The medics were nearly over the hill now, too far for Liam to even think about catching up.  He’d have to get David to get the snowmobile just to get him to the truck, he’d never make it on his own two feet.  Killian didn’t have that kind of time.

By some miracle - or probably a conversation he had managed to miss - Mills was already pulling up on the machine.  Liam didn’t question it, just threw himself onto the back and held onto the kid as tightly as he was able.  It seemed as though it took an eternity to get around the cabin and to the main path and Liam was sure that the ambulance would be long gone by the time they got to what passed for a road.

The flashing red lights reflected off the snow and ice in a nearly blinding display.  Liam stumbled off the snowmobile, intent on making his way inside the back of the bus before it left, only to be stopped by Emma’s hand on the center of his chest.

“They can only take one of us in the helicopter, Jones.  And I need to keep him safe.”

_I need to keep him safe._  The words echoed in Liam's ears, stabbing him repeatedly with each syllable and what she hadn’t said - _I need to keep him safe because clearly_ you _can’t_ \- was nothing he wasn't already thinking.  He'd failed to keep Killian safe.  He'd failed when his little brother needed him so badly to be the man Killian had idolized for years.  He'd failed to even make one bloody shot that would have ended Killian's suffering at Gold's hands rather than prolonging his pain until... until...

_God, his heart stopped beating._

But it rankled all the same - _I need to keep him safe_ \- that was _his_ job.  Had been since the moment their mother had carefully placed Killian in Liam's arms and showed him how to support the baby's head.

_"Keep him safe, Liam.  He's your little brother and it's your job to make sure he's safe."_

Mama had wanted that for them more than anything else in the world, and Liam had learned how to do just that.  And now...

And now Killian was speeding away in an ambulance, clinging to life, and Liam wasn't there to watch over him.  Emma was, as if she were the better person for the job.

_Right now she is, you bloody fool,_ he castigated himself, replaying the moment Killian's knees had buckled and he'd collapsed into the snow, still smiling.

Liam's hands started to shake harder.

David came up behind him, a hand squeezing his shoulder in support, but Liam shrugged him off.  He didn't want the support right now.  He didn't _deserve_ the support right now.  Not when he'd caused all of this.

If Gold weren't dead on the floor of the forest with the bullet that may have ended Killian's life as well embedded in his damned heart, Liam would have killed him again.

"Jones, come on.  I'll take you to the hospital," David ordered, his hand coming up to support Liam by the elbow when his knees nearly gave out.  "Mills is going to secure the scene."

Liam blinked, the world starting to sway around him.  He needed to sit down.  There was no fight left in him as David guided him into the truck, his hand held out expectantly for Liam’s keys.  Wordlessly, Liam dug them out of his pocket and nearly dropped them - David only just managing to snag them in midair with an understanding smile.

Liam hated that smile.

He didn't want understanding.  He didn't want David's sympathy.  He wanted...

He wanted his brother.

God, he'd killed the only person who had ever really given a damn about him.

Logically, Liam knew that wasn't true - David's bloody infuriating smile was proof of that - but it didn't change what had happened.  And it didn't change how alone in the world Liam would be if his little brother... if he...

"What happened, Liam?" David asked quietly and Liam jumped.  They were on the highway already, miles away from the cabin.  "We were already on the way when Emma called, but she was sketchy on the details."

"I shot him," Liam repeated, holding on to the stabbing feeling of shame.  He deserved it.  Deserved that and so much more.  "I shot Killian."

It was all David would get out of him in the hours it took to get back to the city and through downtown traffic to MGH.

He didn't remember getting out of the truck.  He didn't remember how he got through the emergency room.  He didn't remember how or when or why he was sitting in a room by himself with an IV stuck in his arm and no one to tell him what to do now, where to go, how to deal with all of _this_.

So he did what he did best.  He went to find his brother.

The sting in the crook of his elbow as the IV tore from his skin was an annoyance that Liam ignored.  The blood that oozed down his arm and dripped from his fingers didn't register as he made his way down the hall.  He'd been in this hospital enough times over the years to know the way.  His brother was in one of three places and Liam knew them all intimately - a surgical theater where he couldn't go, the ICU which could prove problematic, but not impossible, to sneak into, or...

Or the morgue.

Liam clung to the bits of conversation that he'd overheard between the medics - keep him stable, vitals are thready, landing site.  They didn't medevac corpses.  Emma wouldn't have needed to protect Killian if he were already gone.

The fact that Liam turned resolutely away from the path to the basement in favor of heading towards the ICU had _nothing_ to do with his sheer inability to see his little brother laid out on a slab in the morgue, no it did not.  It was purely logistics - and he'd take that to his grave.

**_He’s breathing._**  It wasn’t much in the way of text messages, nothing about Killian’s status or if he’d crashed again or if the doctors had any inclination of Killian’s chances of survival.  Liam didn’t even know when Emma had sent the message, didn’t know if any one of a thousand things had gone wrong in the interim.

But it was everything.   _Everything_.  His little brother was breathing.  He was alive.

For now.

No one questioned him as he made his way down the hall and into the elevator.  He was a little surprised that David hadn't been waiting with him, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either.  His partner would have tried to make him stay in the room, would have wanted him to finish whatever was in the damned IV before he found Killian.

Liam would have felt a little bit badly if he'd had to punch David in the face.  Probably.

Eventually.

He was pretty sure.

It took a bit longer than he'd like, but Liam eventually managed to shadow someone closely enough to bypass the security door to the ICU.  Finally inside, he found it laughably easy to figure out Killian's room number and make his way down the hall.  He could hear David's voice from a waiting room, dripping with authority as he ordered someone about, but he didn't stray close enough to make out the words.  He didn't have time to argue with Nolan about what he was doing; someone had to see to Killian.

_He_ needed to see Killian.

The door to his brother’s room was guarded.  Mills and an officer Liam didn't recognize both stood outside the closed door, holsters unsnapped and eyes sharp.

"You going to stop me from going inside?" he asked Mills when the man he didn't recognize looked ready to draw down on him.

_Good._

They shouldn’t hesitate to protect his brother from anyone.  Least of all, him.

Maybe _especially_ him.

"N-No, sir," Henry said hesitantly, gaze darting down the hall as if he could will David to come to his rescue.  "But aren't you supposed to be-"

"I'm supposed to be right here, lad."

Henry nodded, to Liam and then to the officer next to him, who finally lowered his hand from the butt of his weapon.  “Detective Swan is inside; she put up a hell of a fight when they tried to make her leave.”

Part of Liam sagged in relief.  Someone had been with Killian when he couldn’t; his little brother hadn’t been alone.  That was good.  That was right.  She hadn’t shot him, not like Liam had.  Emma _should_ be there.

He shouldn’t.

Squaring up his shoulders, Liam pushed past Henry and opened the door to Killian's room.  Emma jumped from the chair, her hand halfway to her holster before she recognized who had entered.  Her eyes flashed with something he didn't want to put a name to, but she sat back down without a word, her eyes trained on his brother's chest.

God, Killian looked... he looked small.  Liam routinely poked fun of Killian for his smaller stature despite, or rather because of, his brother's reaction to it.  He hadn't truly thought of Killian as 'little' in quite some time.  Not like this.  There were so many machines surrounding Killian, so many wires, so many layers of gauze wrapped around his chest.  All of it dwarfed his younger brother's slight frame and made him seem... just so small.  So vulnerable.

Liam thought he should be shaking, but he was frozen, one hand still on the door handle and the other reaching out as if he were trying to grasp Killian's hand from across the room.  There was a tube down his brother's throat, the whoosh of the ventilator echoing through the room in some macabre kind of harmony with the beeping of the heart monitor.

"I thought you said he was breathing," Liam whispered, not sure if he'd spoken loudly enough to cross the room.

Emma didn't look up, but she matched his tone.  "He _was_."

The ventilator whooshed again and again, seeming to mock Liam as he stared at Killian's still form.  He'd done this.  He'd shot his little brother.  He'd put him in the goddamned ICU with a tube down his throat and wires and tubes snaking who knew where.

Liam had done this.

He looked away from his brother then.  Caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window that hid the storm brewing outside - a storm that mirrored his own emotions.  Tears tracked down his cheeks and cut a line through the streak of Killian's blood that Liam must have smeared there at some point.  His eyes were haunted, lost, alone.  Liam looked… he looked far better than his brother did.  It should be _him_ in that hospital bed; _not_ Killian.  But he was.  He was lying still and silent in a bed that - in other circumstances - Killian would be complaining was doing a number on his back.  But not now.

Liam didn't realize he'd retreated from the room until his back hit the wall opposite his brother's room and Mills was asking if he was okay.

_Okay?_  Liam didn’t even understand the meaning of the word any more.  His knees turned to jelly and he slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his legs and shivering.  He could hear noises around him, could feel a hand on his shoulder shaking him slightly, could smell the antiseptic of whatever they’d used to clean the floors, but all he could see was his brother lying in that bed clinging to life.  

No one should look that shade of pale, have that many machines around them, have a bloody _tube_ down their throat just to goddamned _breathe_.  It just didn’t seem possible that who he’d seen in there could ever possibly be his little brother again.  He’d killed him.  He’d killed Killian.

“Liam?”  Emma’s voice rang through the hallway, her boots coming to a stop just beyond his own.

“God, what are you doing out _here_?” he asked incredulously, his voice barely a croak.  Liam was a bit surprised to realize he’d even spoken out loud.

She hunkered down in front of him and it was all he could do to keep himself from shoving her away.

“What _happened_ out there?”

Liam just shook his head sadly, curling into a smaller ball and relishing the pull of muscles that protested the movement.  “I shot him.  I… I shot my brother.”

“I _know_ that, Liam.  You nearly killed him.  But what I don’t know is _why_.”  Emma reached out and wrapped a hand his forearm, her grip nearly bruising in its intensity.  “I need to know what _happened._ ”

Liam tore his arm away, a snarl dying on his lips before he could tell her where she could shove her curiosity.  He couldn’t be angry at her; not when she was right.  He’d nearly killed Killian.  He still might have killed his brother.

Instead of firing back at her, Liam just sighed and rested his forehead on his arms.  “I shot him.”

“Liam!” she nearly shouted, and then shook him when he refused to look up at her.

He just shrugged, eyes stinging as he replayed the moment Killian had dropped to his knees and then slumped down into the snow.  Why didn’t matter anymore, not with Gold dead and enough officers in the hospital that Hades wouldn’t try anything here.  He’d shot Killian.

He’d failed.

“Hey,” she said gently, and it hurt even more than when she was yelling at him.  “Liam, look at me.”

“Don’t do that,” he whispered into his knees.  “Don’t treat me like a witness; like a _victim_.  I don’t deserve it.  I shot my brother.”

Emma squeezed his knee, her thumb soothing over his jeans in a repetitive pattern.  “I know you did, and we can’t change that.  But he’s in there and he’s fighting to come back to us.  He’s fighting, Liam, and he needs us to be strong for him now.  Do you want to come sit with him?”

Liam shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut even though he couldn’t see anything but the tile between his shoes.  No, he couldn’t go sit with Killian, he didn’t deserve the comfort of seeing his little brother fighting.

“Okay,” she whispered, squeezing his knee again.  “I’m gonna go back in, but I’ll leave the door open for you.  For when you’re ready to be strong for him.”

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered even more quietly than she had.

“Maybe not,” Emma agreed, and he could hear the reproach in her tone.  “But _he_ does.”

Liam didn’t know when Emma left him, the door to his brother’s room propped open just enough that he could see her curled up on a chair next to Killian’s bedside.  She wasn’t touching his brother, though he could see from the tense set of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched that she wanted to.  The beeping of the heart monitor echoed in his ears, steady and sure enough that Liam let it wash over him.  Killian was still here, he was still holding on stubbornly, he was still fighting.

Liam wished he could do the same.

There was still so much blood.  His hands were covered in it and he couldn't get it off, couldn't get it out from his nail beds. Even his undershirt was stiff with his little brother's blood, his flannel shirt left behind outside the cabin - saturated with blood, too.

“You know, Jones,” David’s voice carried down the hall, “I left you in that hospital room because you needed to be there.  Not sitting on the floor of the ICU making the rookies uncomfortable.”

“This one’s twitchy,” he managed, nodding his head towards the officer without taking his eyes off the scarlet stains on his fingers.  There was just so much blood.

“So were you,” David replied without missing a beat.  Liam tore his eyes from Killian’s blood long enough to glare at him fiercely.   His hands trembled around his jeans, making Liam clutch at his knees to try and lessen the spasms.  That prompted David to quickly add, “Your first day on the job.  You remember?  Your head was on a damn swivel in the line at Dunks?”

“There was an armed robbery there not five minutes later!” he shot back hotly, but his ire at what seemed to be a thoughtless quip cooled quickly.  God, they’d been young then.  Not quite as young as the kid standing across from him, he was sure, but _young_.

“Lucky coincidence.  At least you got your coffee before we had to haul that idiot in,” David whined.  “I didn’t get a caffeine hit for another six _hours_ after that.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Liam pointed out, turning to stare once more at what he could see of Killian’s form.

David sighed.  “Aren’t you going in?  I know Emma’s in there, but Jasmine wouldn’t say anything about the visitation requirements, you know that.”

Liam just shook his head.  “I shot him, David,” he whispered, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest at the admission.

“There is no way you-”

“I _shot him_!” he shouted, not wanting the sympathy.

Twitchy startled, his hand shooting to his holster again.  He looked as though he was contemplating reaching for his handcuffs as well.  David waved the officer off, moving to stand in front of Liam’s feet.

“I _know_ ,” he said softly.  “I know that, Jones.  But I also know that wasn’t your intention.  I know that if you’d had any other choice, you wouldn’t have taken the shot.  So why did you?”

Liam just shrugged, turning his attention back to the blood caked on his hands.  “I shot him.”

“All right, Jones,” David said in resignation, “we’ll come back to that.  Mary Margaret brought you some clean clothes; let’s get you off the floor.”

Liam didn’t move, didn’t even hear him, caught up once again replaying those moments that felt like hours outside the cabin.  Killian’s smile, his choked cry of pain, the look of relief, the fear.

The ‘thank you’ he’d muttered before surrendering to unconsciousness.

Liam shut his eyes again, caught up in the childish desire to block everything out by any means necessary.  He managed to stop himself from clapping his hands over his ears, but only just.  He’d have pinched himself to wake up if he weren’t painfully aware that this was no nightmare, at least not the kind he’d startle himself out of and find himself in bed, sweating and trembling.

There was no waking up from this horror.

“Come on, Liam,” David tried again, tugging on Liam’s arm to get him to stand.  He managed it - but barely.  “You’re scaring the nurses and the rooks.  There’s a bathroom just inside Killi-”

Liam balked, pulling his arm out of David’s grasp and stumbling backwards until he hit the wall again.  His eyes were wild and his breath was coming in short gasps.  He couldn’t go in there; he _wouldn’t_.  He didn’t deserve to… to…

“Easy, Jones, easy.  Calm down, okay?”

He was shaking again, shivering and trembling in some chaotic combination of shock and the bloody neurotoxin.  He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t calm down, he-

“Jones!” David ordered and Liam nearly leapt to attention.  He could follow orders, he’d been doing it for the better part of his life.  “Take your shirt off.”

Killian would have snarked something about buying him dinner first. Mills looked around as if he were being personally scandalized. Twitchy snickered under his breath.

Liam took off his shirt.

Goosebumps rose on his forearms and chest within seconds, the temperature in the hospital just a little too cold to be comfortable.  He held the stained and stiff cotton in his hands, staring at the dark, dried blood.  There were streaks where he’d wiped his hands, splatters where Killian’s blood had-

“Put this on, Jones.  Now.”  David sounded like the drill sergeant they’d had at the Academy.

Liam dropped the undershirt in order to take the soft hoodie that David thrust into his hands.  It wasn’t anything he owned, but it didn’t matter.  It was soft and warm and _clean_.  He slipped into it, the hood falling over his eyes and blocking his view of Killian.  Liam whipped it back, nearly tearing his hair in his quest to glimpse his brother again.

Killian was still there, he was still alive, he was still… still.  Liam’s knees sagged, his breath leaving him in a painful whoosh as he slid back down the wall in a boneless heap.  His hands were still enclosed in the arms of the sweatshirt and he shoved the material up his forearms violently, staring at the dark red that covered his fingers and palms.

_Killian’s blood_.

Liam started picking at it, watching the flakes fall away from his fingerprints in miniscule chunks.  He started to scratch at his nails, trying to rid himself of the blood embedded in the quick of his fingers.  He rubbed his palms together, frantically trying to create enough friction to wipe them clean, get rid of the stiffness that pulled at his skin, the evidence that he’d failed so utterly.

It wouldn’t disappear.

Liam continued, devolving from carefully calculated ministrations to frenzied scratching, digging his nails into his skin to lift away the stains and pulling fresh blood to the surface as he did so.

“Jones, what are you- hey, stop that!  Liam!” David admonished as he knelt at Liam’s side, brandishing a pack of Wet Ones he must have reappropriated from the nurses’ station.  Or maybe Mary Margaret had sent them.  That seemed like the kind of thing she would do.

Liam didn’t fight when his partner slapped one hand away from the other, watching with detachment as David started to clean away the blood.  Killian’s blood.  He barely felt the sting from the fresh abrasions.  The wipes were cold, sending tremors up his arms and making him tense.  He needed to stay calm, he needed to be here.  He needed to keep Killian safe.

_Bloody marvelous job you made of that, you fool_.

The paleness of his skin began to peek through the ruddy stains and Liam couldn’t look away.  David was washing away the blood, as if he could wash away the sins Liam had committed that easily.  He’d shot Killian.  He’d shot his little brother.

The pile of stained wipes grew as David turned his hands over and over, making sure he’d gotten all of the blood and pressing down firmly against one of the oozing scrapes where Liam had dug too deeply.  So much blood, all of it mixed together as if they weren’t already blood brothers.

_Blood brothers_.  Liam smirked a little in spite of himself.  

Killian had been young, maybe six or seven, when he’d watched that bloody television show where the girls had insisted on becoming ‘blood brothers’ - only they used ketchup.  Killian had insisted that they should do the same and no amount of explaining that they were _already_ related by blood would persuade him.

_I_ know _, Liam.  But Billy said that they might not always be able to keep us together.  We_ have _to do this so you won’t forget me if you get a_ real _family._

He’d thought it was ridiculous.  They were _brothers_.  He couldn’t forget Killian, and it wasn’t like they’d be separated anyway - Liam wouldn’t let that happen.  But Killian had gotten more and more insistent, starting to shout with tears checked in the corners of his eyes, and Liam had relented.  Their foster father downstairs wouldn’t take too kindly to the noise and while their living situation wasn’t ideal, they were together.   _That_ was what was important.

So he’d filched a pocket knife out of the man’s dresser, led Killian into the hall bathroom where the first aid kit was, and made a thin slice on the pad of his little brother’s finger.  There was a matching scar - white and long since healed but never forgotten - on his own finger that Liam ran his thumb over incessantly, now, and the deed was done.  Killian had said some over the top vow that had long been lost to the ether where memories flitted off to, Liam had repeated the words, and before he could press an alcohol wipe to his little brother’s finger, their foster mother had come in the room and started screeching about how he was abusing Killian.

It had taken nearly six months for him to finally convince the social worker that he’d keep wreaking more and more havoc wherever they sent him if they didn’t give him his brother back.  One look at the terror on his little brother’s face being replaced by utter relief proved to Liam that he’d never let them be separated again.

Until now.

_Blood brothers_.

It was a ridiculous thought, but he pressed his thumb harder against the old scar, begging and pleading in his head.

_We’re blood brothers, Killian.  Please don’t forget me.  Don’t leave.  Come back to me._

Out of habit, Liam ran the sharp edge of his thumbnail over the scar, wishing for a penknife or a paperclip or something sharp to open the wound once more.  The pain had helped in those long months apart as kids - reopening the wound again and again to remind himself that Killian was out there, was scared, was _alone_.  But that Liam would find him.  He shook his head and forced himself to stretch out his fingers, grasping his thumb in his other hand and holding on tightly.  Killian was right there, in that room, being watched over by someone who could keep him safe.

David pressed a steaming styrofoam cup into his hands and nearly growled when Liam just set it down between his feet.  He didn’t want the caffeine, he didn’t want the warmth.  He just wanted to start the day over and… and… he didn’t even know what he could have done differently other than get far away from his brother.

“I should leave,” he muttered under his breath, his heart stuttering and clenching sharply as the thought that had been circling his head for what felt like hours was finally said out loud.  “I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Like _hell_ you don’t!” David shouted vehemently, a hand raised in supplication at the ire in a passing nurse’s glare.  He lowered his voice, but the ire was still just as apparent.  “He’s your brother, damnit.  If there’s anyone in the world who deser-”

“The person who put him in that room doesn’t _deserve_ to be within a hundred yards of him!” Liam whispered back fiercely, mindful of the nurse who was not so slyly watching them, clearly waiting for an invitation to have them removed from the unit.

“ _You_ shot him?  Your own brother?” Mills asked incredulously, his eyes going wide as he came around the corner.  “Why?”

“Henry!” David hissed, and the kid’s eyes went even wider at the clear rebuke.  A blush of shame colored his cheeks, but the damage had already been done.

Liam felt as though he were falling apart at the seams, the stitches he’d used to keep his heart from shattering completely not up to the task.  He’d shot Killian.  He’d shot his own brother.

He just shrugged at Henry, his shoulders rising with certainty and falling shakily as he clutched at his knees harder and tried to curl into an impossibly smaller ball of self-loathing.  He was so cold, the tile beneath him and the plaster at his back doing nothing to insulate him from his own thoughts.  From the memories.  From the terrifying knowledge that for as long as he’d been trying to keep Killian safe, he’d made a right mess of it in mere minutes.

Killian still might die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It seemed like hours or maybe seconds later when he felt the familiar weight of a blanket falling over his shoulders.  It was warm and soft and comforting - it was everything he didn’t want at the moment.  He shrugged it off insistently, barely aware of the sound of it hitting the linoleum.

Then it was back around him, tugged there just as insistently as he’d gotten rid of it.  So he balled it up in his hands, his fingers tight in the material to still the tremors.  David made a huff of indignation but Liam didn’t care.  He threw the blanket across the hallway with as much effort as he could muster.

“For the love of- you’re freezing, Jones.”

“Don’ care,” he mumbled into his jeans.

David sighed.  “You might not care, but _I_ do.  Just take the damn blanket.”  

There was something in David’s tone - not quite an order, more like a plea - that made Liam’s head shoot up.  He nodded wordlessly, leaning forward until the blanket was settled and then collapsing back against the wall.  He didn’t like it, he didn’t want it there, but David did and sometimes that was more important.

“He’s gonna be all right, you know?”  David muttered, still crouched at Liam’s side.  The words were right, but the tone wasn’t and Liam could tell that he didn’t believe it, either.  Not with the machines and the breathing tube doing all of the work to keep him alive.

David couldn’t do that right now; Liam couldn’t handle the platitudes and the false hope and the dreams that maybe Killian might come back to him.

That he might deserve his brother’s forgiveness.

That Killian would grant it wasn’t in question.  Liam knew that his brother wouldn’t see fault in what he had done.  Would be more concerned with how _Liam_ felt about him getting shot than with how much damage he had to heal from.  And that was if…

“I need some time,” he muttered to David, ignoring the tightening in his chest when he thought about being left alone.  “Please?”

David nodded reluctantly, standing with a distinct popping sound coming from his knees that would have made Liam laugh under other circumstances.  “I’m going to check on the security detail and double check that the surveillance feeds are working.  But I’ll be back, Jones.”

Liam just nodded, turning his head away from the sympathy in David’s eyes and keeping vigil over his brother’s room.  He didn’t know how long he sat there, ignoring the confused and sympathetic stares from Killian’s guards.  It felt like all of him had gone numb, and not just from the cold tile he was sitting on.  There was only one time that he could remember when Killian wasn’t in his life and he wouldn’t relive those six months for anything.  But at least he’d known that Killian was _alive_ , that he was out there somewhere.  He couldn’t remember a time before Killian had been his little brother, didn’t know what to _do_ if he wasn’t a big brother.  Didn’t know how to-

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

Liam’s heart stopped.  That was coming from Killian’s room.

He stood up in spite of himself, ignoring the pull of muscles and the popping of his own joints as he moved by rote towards the wailing alarms coming from his little brother’s bedside.  Distantly, he thought he heard David’s voice echoing down the hall, but it was muffled by Emma’s shouts and that damned alarm.

Killian’s heart monitor.

_Flatline._

Liam paused in the doorway, the terror that gripped his heart mirrored on Emma's face.  She was stark white, paler even than his brother lying in the bed behind her.  The monitors were screaming, but he couldn't hear them any more.  Emma was saying something, grabbing him by the hand, but he couldn't.  He _couldn’t_ see Killian like that, not when his brother was-

"Move!" someone shouted in his ear and, when all he could do was turn to gape at them, they shoved him out of the way.

Liam stumbled, going down hard on his knees and relishing the pain that shot through him with the hard contact.  He managed to turn himself over and lean against the wall, tremors and shivers wracking his frame as he turned his ear towards the door.  He could hear the door slam shut, but he was close enough now to hear the terse commands, the wailing of the monitors, Emma's unanswered questions, her shouts of terrified alarm.

He heard the defibrillator, the tones of voices, the protocols that the doctors were following to try and save Killian.  But it was too late.  Wasn’t it already enough?  Too much?  Shouldn’t they just let his brother be?

The monitor continued to beep tonelessly, endlessly.  Every second that it wailed sent another tendril of terror snaking down Liam’s spine.  He’d just lost his brother.  He had lost Killian and it was all his fault.

Liam just stared blankly down the hall from where he’d fallen, unable to focus, to _process_ what was going on behind that door.  He barely felt it when David helplessly sank down next to him, his arm tight around Liam’s shoulders as they awaited whatever the Fates had in store for Killian’s lifeline.  Whether they’d reached the end of his thread or if they’d cut it in punishment for Liam’s faults.

Still flatline.

Liam couldn’t see the monitor, could only hear it.  But it didn’t matter - he knew what it meant.  He didn’t know what else it could _be_ other than his brother’s body finally giving up the fight.  He’d done this.  He’d shot his brother and now he’d have to bury him.  Full dress uniform and full honors from the department and Liam would be… he’d have to make all the arrangements.

Would Killian have wanted lilies or orchids at his funeral?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> *runs and hides*


	14. DOA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just... gonna go.
> 
> But before I do, cocohook38 over at tumblr illustrated a key moment in this chapter! The link will be up with the art as soon as she posts it, but you can see it below and should definitely drop her a note about it. I can't thank her enough!

Emma sat alone in the empty room, staring at the empty bed without really seeing it.  She could still see Killian so clearly, lying there with more tubes and wires snaking out from beneath the blankets than she’d ever seen before.  But he wasn’t there, not anymore.  The echo of the alarms that had gone off so suddenly, so finally, still rang through her ears.  He’d been so still through it all and Emma had remembered thinking inanely that he should have woken at all the commotion.

But he hadn’t.

The only movement that had come from him was the tetany of muscles with the shock of the defibrillator, the spastic movements of his chest as they’d performed CPR again, the lolling of his head every time they pulled the bag away from the tube in his throat at the command of, “Clear!”

God, she’d wanted to see his blue eyes looking at her, reassuring her, pulling the terror from her heart with how calm he always was.

But he hadn’t woken.

And now, Emma sat in shock, still guarding the empty bed.  She didn’t know what else to do.  Part of her needed to get up, to find Liam, to make sure he was… ‘all right’ wasn’t the right sentiment since he clearly would be as far from whole as she was.  She needed him right now, needed someone who’d loved Killian even more than she did, needed to know that someone else was as near to falling apart as she was.

But there was still a job to do.

Gold had been killed; his part in this fiasco was finished.  But Hades… Hades was still at large and still free to wreak as much havoc as he pleased and Emma couldn’t stand for that.  She wouldn’t.

And she knew she needed to get to Liam before he could go off on his own.  She didn’t know exactly _what_ Liam was capable of right now, but she knew that he wouldn’t care what happened to him so long as Hades was made to pay for everything he’d done to Killian.

The only thing Emma could do for Killian now was make sure his brother didn’t end up in a prison cell for the rest of his life.  Or worse.

God, how had it come to this?

“Emma?” Henry’s voice echoed through the empty room, startling her out of her thoughts and back to the present.  There was still so much to do.  “What do you want me to do?”

Emma just stared at Mills for a moment.  She didn’t know.  This was her case and right now she just didn’t know.  There was too much to do and not enough to do and she didn’t know where to start.  She needed to get to Liam.  She needed to find Hades.

She needed to end this.

“David said that you would have orders for me,” he tried again, looking so goddamned hopeful that he’d be able to help that Emma peeked out of the walls that she had been rapidly trying to rebuild.  She wasn’t entirely sure when they’d come down, but she _was_ sure that Killian had everything to do with it.  And now he was-

_Don’t think about that._

She smiled shakily at Henry, the movement of her face tight and so, so false.  Another brick in the wall, another fortification to protect what was left of her heart.  She needed to get Henry away from this - away from all the darkness that she was ready to embrace.  Anything to finish this.  “All right, Mills, let’s get to work.  I need access to the surveillance feeds.”

Henry beamed at her, a light in the oppressive darkness of the room that Emma, suddenly, couldn’t wait to be away from.  Killian may no longer be there, but his brother still needed their help.  _Her_ help.  And she’d do whatever it took to get her… _their_ vengeance.  For Killian.

“I’m on it, Detective!  Just give me a minute or two and I’ll have them transferred to a tablet for you.”  Henry was halfway out the door when he paused.  “What are you looking for?”

“Liam bloody Jones, for one thing,” she mumbled under her breath, but then shook her head before speaking loudly enough for Mills to hear.  “I need to know if anyone came or went from this floor after Jones d- after he coded.  Anyone that we haven’t cleared yet.”

His eyes widened meaningfully at her stutter before he turned for the door again.  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised and then took off.

“I won’t be here,” Emma muttered to his retreating back.  She liked Mills, but even now he was still too green, still too eager to follow the book.  And Emma didn’t have time for anyone to question her or second guess what she was about to do.

She had a feeling Liam would be on board for that.

But first she had to find him.

Emma stood shakily to her feet, ignoring the sick feeling that nearly sent her collapsing back into the chair at Killian’s… at the _empty_ bedside.  That’s all it was; just a bed, nothing more.  Not the last place that she’d seen Killian.  Not where she’d watched them whisk her… take Killian from her.  Her knees wobbled as she took those first few steps away from the bed, towards the door that Liam had haunted while his brother had fought and lost the battle to live.  

Part of Emma hoped that somewhere, somehow, Killian knew that she was there at the end.  She wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone as he breathed his last breaths and when his heart slowed to a stop.  But there was also a part - a rather large part - of her that would be grateful if he didn’t know.  Because if Killian didn’t know that she _was_ there, then he didn’t know that his brother _wasn’t_ at his side.  Emma knew he’d understand, that he’d have forgiven Liam, but right now she couldn’t do the same.

She didn’t know the whole story.  Emma _knew_ that.  She knew enough about the brothers to know that Liam never would have taken the shot if he’d had another choice.  He had to know that there was no other way, that Killian never would have blamed him for trying to save his life.  Emma may not have been there, but she’d seen Gold’s corpse and had drawn up enough trajectories from enough crime scenes to know that the bullet that had ended his life was the same one that had eventually ended Killian’s.

Damnit, she’d been minutes away.  All they had to do was stall.

_Don’t go there,_ she admonished herself.  There was no guarantee that she could have done any differently and Emma had no way of knowing if Liam even knew she was coming.  She had to find out what happened.  She had to find Liam.

_He wouldn’t leave his brother_.  The thought came out of nowhere, but once it solidified in her brain, Emma knew exactly where Liam had slunk off to.

The morgue.

It took Emma longer than she would have liked to dodge the other officers on the floor and then make her way to an elevator that would take her to the basement.  Despite the calming music spewing out of the speakers and the bright lights in the small metal box she was trapped in, a chill ran down her spine.  It didn’t matter how many times she’d been in the bowels of the hospital, how many bodies she’d seen in her days before transferring to Internal Affairs; it never got easier or less eerie to take the long path from the elevator to the door marked, “MORGUE”.

It all just seemed so unnecessarily sinister.  The gleaming metal doors, the chill in the air, the hum of all the refrigerated cabinets hiding the bodies.  The lights were dimmed low, as if in reverence to the dead resting behind closed doors.  And in reverence to Liam.

Liam was standing in the middle of the room, the defeat that was resting on his shoulders almost visible in its intensity.  He looked so lost, so small in the vast room.  Emma wanted to burst in on him and take him away from this place.  She wanted to wrap him up in bubble wrap and keep him safe from the harsh reality he was facing alone.  She knew Killian would have wanted that for him.

But Killian was gone and Liam was broken and Emma was only just hanging on herself, thoughts of what she was going to do to Hades when they caught up with him barely enough to keep her going.  She wasn’t strong enough to shoulder Liam’s devastation as well.

So she watched.  Like a voyeur with a sick sense of dread in her stomach, Emma watched as Liam shook himself, stood taller, and moved towards one of the banks of cabinets.  She held her breath as he froze, his hand outstretched towards - but not quite reaching - the handle of one of the doors.  Even from her spot behind the entrance, Emma could see the tremors in Liam’s fingers as he hesitated, though she couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or shock or his condition.

She thought it might be a combination of the three and was impressed that he was even standing.  God knew that there was nothing more she wanted to do than to surrender to her grief for a moment or several.  Thoughts of fleeing from the hospital, of taking shelter in her apartment and just collapsing on the couch to stare mindlessly up at the ceiling for days, of hiding away on the _Jolly Roger_ amidst the smell and the memory of Killian, caught in her mind and she nearly backpedaled away from the doors.

_No,_ Emma thought angrily to herself.  It wasn’t the time to break; not now.  Right now she had to finish what Killian… what _they_ had started.   _Together._  No matter what, she had to take Hades out.

She needed Liam’s help to do it.  She thought that he might need the closure, the vengeance, as much or maybe even more than she did.  At least if he were by her side, they could take Hades out together and watch each other’s backs.  Alone, who knew how successful they’d be.  Maybe, just maybe, if they were able to take Hades out together, she could find it in her to forgive Liam for abandoning his brother in that hospital room.  Maybe she could finally understand what had brought them to this point and find a way to get past the fact that, his fault or not, Liam had fired the bullet that ended Killian’s life.

She blamed Gold for Killian dying, she blamed Hades for losing the first man she’d loved since Neal.

She blamed Liam for failing Killian at the end.  But, she thought as she watched Liam looking so forlorn and yet so strong - _finally_ \- for Killian, she didn’t blame him for Killian dying.  That wasn’t his fault.

She knew that, even if she also knew Liam didn’t believe it.

Emma watched for a moment longer, fascinated by the strength Liam had found in the face of the ultimate tragedy.  But when his fingers finally closed around the handle and he tugged open the door with a determined yank, she realized that her morbid curiosity was far outweighed by the respect she had for him.  By the realization that he deserved this moment alone.  By her absolute inability to deal with seeing Killian, cold and dead and laid out on a slab covered only by an austere hospital sheet.

Nothing about Killian Jones was cold or austere.

She’d say her goodbyes alone, without anyone watching, with a flask of rum and the sanctity of her own time and place.  The least she could do for Liam was afford him the same privacy.

Before Liam could pull out the drawer that held his brother’s body, Emma turned away from the morgue doors and nearly sprinted down the hallway.

She’d wait for Liam by the elevator.

* * *

There was a buzzing in Liam’s ears drowning everything else out in that hallway outside his brother’s room.  He felt as though someone had dumped him in the ocean in the middle of a hurricane, nothing quite in focus and not knowing which way was up.  His head lolled against the cold wall behind him, Mills’s face swimming into his line of vision before droning on about something that Liam couldn’t make out.  Almost before he could process the rookie’s presence and what it could mean, Henry was gone again.  Liam wasn’t entirely sure that he’d even been there.

He was shaking again.  That seemed important.  Dead people didn’t shake.  He wasn’t dead yet.  Killian was.  And it was his fault.

Liam had no idea how much time had passed; it seemed only a blink of an eye and yet an eternity.  However long it had been, he was startled when the door opened and Whale slipped out of the room.  The doctor gave him a strange look, but didn’t stop to offer his condolences - not that Liam was surprised.  He never did have much of a bedside manner.

A moment later, and Whale’s lack of sympathy was washed away by the tide of grief that crashed over Liam.  The gurney wheel was squeaking loudly enough to grate on Liam’s nerves.  The white sheet that covered Killian’s body was pristine, not a single mark on the cloth that spoke of the trauma beneath.  It all seemed so simple.

The ramifications were anything but.

That was his little brother under that sheet, cold and lost and gone where Liam couldn’t follow.  His little brother, the man who had been so full of life, so full of potential and hopes and dreams and… and he was gone.

Liam rose shakily to his feet and stumbled after the orderly ferrying his brother away down the hall.  The tether between brothers stretched and pulled as Liam fell behind; it felt almost real, as if a piece of him were being physically ripped away the faster the man moved and the slower Liam managed.  When the elevator doors closed, separating Liam from Killian and blocking his view of his brother’s body, it was as if everything just stopped.

Numbness.

The blissful absence of anything remotely related to feeling.  It took over Liam without warning and he welcomed it with alacrity.  Not being able to feel anything was far better than the terror that had mixed with the self-recriminations and the white hot anger that had coursed through him only moments ago.  He had heard the doctor call time of death and everything just… just stopped.  It didn’t hurt, it didn’t scare him, it just didn’t matter anymore.  He was alone in the world and nothing that could or would happen after 8:15PM even mattered.  Killian was dead.

He was dead.

Liam was dead and his body just hadn’t gotten the memo to stop and follow his brother yet.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the doors open and close as the people around him moved on with their lives.  As if they didn’t understand that everything had stopped.  As if they didn’t know that Liam’s world had shattered so irrevocably.

Of course they didn’t.  They didn’t know and they didn’t care and nothing mattered and Killian was gone.  He was gone.  Liam didn’t know what to do.

“Come on, Jones,” David’s voice came out of nowhere, soft and soothing and nothing that Liam wanted right now.

He shook his head in denial, his partner’s presence wrenching him out of the depths he’d sunk into.  David’s hand on his shoulder was as shocking as that first breath of air he’d take once his head breached the surface of the roiling sea he’d been thrown into.  He didn’t want to be saved.  He just wanted the muted pressure of being surrounded by water with no way up.

It always looked so peaceful in the movies when someone drowned.

“Liam, let me take you home.”

_Home_.  As if that word had any meaning without Killian there to make it so.  Liam shook his head again.  He didn’t _have_ a home anymore.  Any place that he owned was so drenched with memories of his brother, so infused with Killian’s presence, that Liam couldn’t stomach the idea of going there now.

“Mary Margaret already started airing out the guest room.  Come with me, partner.”

Liam blinked slowly, his head turning against his will away from the elevator doors so he could stare uncomprehendingly at David.  “I’m not your partner any longer,” he whispered morosely.

He’d never seen David turn quite that startling shade of red quite that quickly before.  Not even the time when they’d caught the nanny who’d been poisoning her three charges and she had simply confessed saying that they “deserved what came to them” with a sweet smile.

“Like _hell_ you’re not,” he hissed, grabbing Liam by the arm hard enough to make him cry out.  David shook him before dragging him bodily out of the hallway and away from the elevator.  There was a loud _thunk_ as David slammed open the door to a private waiting room before storming inside, dragging Liam along for the ride.  He stumbled as David wrenched him around by the arm, tripped over his feet when he was shoved backwards, and had the wind knocked out of him when his back collided with the chair David had dropped him in.

Liam spent a few minutes coughing and wheezing until his eyes watered.  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to suck in enough oxygen to make the stars dancing across his vision fade.

Liam shook harder as he tried to grasp for the numb feeling again.  The wetness on his cheeks was too real, was too close to the grief he was trying to keep bottled in.  He couldn’t break here; he couldn’t break now.

If he did, he’d never stop.

“You’re my goddamned partner, Jones.  You have been since the Academy and you will be until the day they put one of us in the ground.  And... goddamnit Jones, look at me!  That day is _not_ going to be anytime soon, do you hear me?”

Liam looked up, startled to see David crouched in front of where he sat.  There was a frightening amount of grief reflected in his eyes.

“You’re my partner, Jones,” David repeated softly.  “You’ll always be my partner.  So lean on me for a bit, okay?”

Liam nodded helplessly, the numbness stealing over him again with the assurance that David was there to take care of things.  For a little while, at least. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Liam admitted, nearly choking on the words.  “David, I-”

“Detective Nolan!” a uniformed officer burst into the room with a shout.  “We need your authorization to lock down the ICU.  The hospital’s head of security…”

Liam zoned out as David stood up and moved out of his line of sight.  There was a tile out of place in the intricate pattern on the waiting room floor and it was making him irrationally angry.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Liam?  I need to go take care of this, okay?” David asked hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at the officer who was shifting from foot to foot.  “Stay here, all right?  Don’t move; I’ll be back as soon as I can to take you home.  Mary Margaret’s waiting for us.”

Liam thought he nodded, but the questioning look on David’s face and the increased anxious pacing from the officer made him think twice.  He shuddered, closing his eyes and jerking his head in some semblance of agreement.  David squeezed his shoulder in sympathy before turning for the door, hurrying out and letting the door shut behind him with a bang.

It was too quiet.  Liam opened his eyes and looked around the empty room, the silence nearly deafening as his pulse pounded in his ears.  He had to get up.  He had to move.  He had to keep himself from thinking.

Liam began to pace the length of the room, past the windows that looked out over the city and through the rows of chairs.  Past the coffee maker and the dark television set in the corner of the room.  Back again and again until all he was thinking about was the misplaced tile and the pattern on the uncomfortable chairs.

Killian would hate the pattern on those chairs.

Killian.  Cold, alone, lost.  On his way where Liam couldn’t follow.

But Liam _could_ follow him.  Of a sort.  He wasn’t sure when he’d left the room or where exactly he was going to find a way down to the morgue that wasn’t guarded by an overly attentive do-gooder who would rat him out to Nolan, but he knew that Killian would be in the basement by now, and that was the only thing he could think about.  He had to get there.  Now.

The elevator was too slow.  Liam only lasted two floors before he bolted out the door and headed straight for the stairs.  Logically, he knew that taking the elevator would be faster, but he couldn’t just stand there waiting.  Thinking.  Grie-

He cut himself off.  He needed to get to Killian.  That was all he needed to think about as he finally got to the end of the stairway and slipped through the door.  It was dark in the hallway, the hum of electricity grating on Liam’s ears despite the few muted lights overhead.

The double doors to the morgue loomed menacingly at the end of the hall.  It seemed like for every step Liam took, the hallway got that much longer, the doors that much further away.  He didn’t realize that he’d stopped entirely until the echo of his footsteps faded away and he was left with his thoughts and the maddening noise above his head.

Killian was beyond those doors; the least Liam could do was drum up the courage to do what he couldn’t when Killian would have known the difference, when it might have _made_ a difference - walk through the doors to where his brother was resting.

It was too late for Killian to know one way or another, but Liam would know for the rest of his life that he’d failed his little brother when he was needed the most.

The door creaked open at Liam’s insistence, the humming louder in the cavernous room than it had been in the hallway.  Here, there were two walls full of refrigerated cabinets, the gleaming chrome mocking Liam with his own distorted reflection.  He took three determined steps into the room before his courage slipped out from beneath his feet like the outgoing tide and he froze.  He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t see his brother like this.

He _had_ to see his brother like this.  Liam might have stood there for a mere minute or an eternity, he had no way of knowing.  Killian needed him.  Not in any way that mattered, but at the same time in _every_ way that had ever mattered.  They were brothers, and Liam needed this for his own sanity as well as what Killian deserved.

Squaring his shoulders, Liam looked around the room, searching for a way to find Killian.  He wasn’t sure why, but he migrated towards the side wall, reading the penciled in names to the side of each cabinet.  It only took him three tries to find his brother’s resting place.

 

 

 

> **K.JONES**

Liam’s hands were shaking violently, the tremors painful as they coursed through his fingers and up his arms.  He raised his hand towards the chilled metal, shuddering at the thought of what he’d find behind that door.

“I’m so sorry, little brother,” he whispered into the silent room, unable to wrap his fingers around the handle of the small door.  “I’m so bloody sorry.”

He nearly ran, screaming, from the room at the mere thought of opening that door.  If he saw Killian’s body, if he acknowledged that his little brother was gone, then it was real.  It wasn’t a nightmare or a hallucination or a horrible joke.  His little brother was dead and there was nothing he could do to change it.

Killian needed him; nothing else mattered besides that.

Liam wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled the door open before he could change his mind.  A blast of colder air hit him in the face and accented the tears that he hadn’t even realized were streaming down his cheeks.  Killian’s body was still covered by that damned white sheet, covering his face but not quite managing to hide the wild locks of hair that Liam knew better than his own.

There was nothing for it; Killian was lying on that slab, dead and gone.

He was dead.

“Oh God,” Liam shuddered, his stomach clenching and nearly making him scramble for a trash can.  His free hand came up to cover his mouth in horror, the sight of his little brother’s wild hair more than he could handle.

He couldn’t let go of the door.  The metal was icy in the palm of his hand, the tremors nearly spasmodic now, locking his fingers around the handle and freezing him in place.  Liam’s breath caught in his throat, choking him and sending his blood pressure even higher.  The hum was replaced by his pulse in his ears, mocking him cruelly with the reminder that he was still living while Killian was gone.

“Killian,” he cried pitifully, wanting nothing more than to flee from the room, run so far and so fast that he left the memories behind.  Wanting nothing more than to find that this wasn’t real - he didn’t care how and he didn’t care why - wanting to find that his little brother was home waiting for him.  Wanting nothing more than to wrap Killian in a hug so tight that his brother grumbled and complained about being a grown man and, ‘ _God, Liam when will you remember - younger, not_ little, _all right?’._

But wishing wouldn’t make it so.  Killian was lying there, not at home or at the cabin or on the _Jolly_.

Liam let go of the door, took an involuntary step back before squaring his shoulders again and stepping to the side of Killian’s column of cabinets.  A quick yank and the drawer slid out, Killian’s body shifting a little with the force of the movement.  Liam jumped in spite of himself, years of following up with the coroner on countless cases not doing anything to dissipate the aura of unease in the room.  

Killian stilled again, the sheet billowing a little from the refrigerated air but otherwise shrouding his brother’s body perfectly.  Liam’s hand came up involuntarily to rest on Killian’s arm, the chill of his skin through the material shocking in spite of everything.  God, his little brother was never still, always twitching in his sleep and constantly moving while he was awake.  It drove people nuts sometimes, but it had always reminded Liam that Killian was _there_.  That he hadn’t failed, that they hadn’t been separated, that Liam could still protect him.

Liam couldn’t protect him anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again,  resisting the urge to tuck the sheet tighter around his brother’s body.  Nothing he could do now would warm Killian up.  “Killian, I…”

The motor controlling the temperature in Killian’s cabinet whirred to life in protest, allowing Liam a moment to corral his thoughts.  God, his little brother had always been there, following him around like a shadow that Liam never wanted to get rid of.  He-

“You never annoyed me, you know.  Not really, I mean,” he spoke softly at first, eyes boring a hole in the sheet near Killian’s hip.  “I know I yelled at you sometimes when we were little and you were always underfoot, but I didn’t mean it.  Not really.  Mama told me to look after you before she…”

He clamped down on _that_ particular memory.  No need to pick at badly healed wounds when the loss of his brother was bleeding so freely already.

“I’ve always been proud of you, proud to look out for you, proud to be your brother.  God, I never told you that.”  Liam shook his head in regret.  Why hadn’t he just _told_ Killian?  “I told you when I was proud of things you’d _done_ , but you could have sat on the couch watching awful television and done nothing with your life and I’d still have been proud to call you my brother.  

“But you terrified me, too.  So many times.  The first time you fell riding my bike, that time you fell down the stairs at the Muellers’ and bled all over their white carpet, your first day of primary school when you insisted that you could walk to your classroom by yourself.  I followed you anyway, you know.  No one else was going to bother, so I made sure that I did, no matter what you wanted.  I just wanted what was best for you.”

Five-year old Killian’s confident grin filled Liam’s vision and he had to stop for a moment.  Liam held onto that memory for as long as he could.

“Sometimes you infuriated me, too, you know.  You always thought you knew best, that you were bulletproof - with the bullies, with those bastards who were supposed to be raising us, with… with everything.  It didn’t matter to you that I just wanted you safe, you were bound and determined to do things your own way.”  He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief.  “You know, I’m pretty sure you joined the Academy just to see how high you could make my blood pressure go.  I’ve never been so frightened and so bloody proud of you in my entire life as I was the day you walked across that stage.  God, Killian, you… you’re… you _were_ a hell of a cop and I… I’m so proud of everything you did.  I’m so proud of who you were.”

Liam froze when he realized that he’d corrected himself.  Killian was dead.  He was gone.  He…

He was gone.

Liam watched, detached, as his hand came up slowly, shakily, and clenched the sheet in his fingers.  He could feel Killian’s features beneath his hand, knew the shape of his brother’s nose, the independence of his damned eyebrows, the quirk of his cheek before he smiled, all without seeing them.

He’d never see them again.

Not with the thrill of life thrumming just under the surface.  He didn’t want to pull back the sheet.  He didn’t want to see Killian’s slack features, so devoid of everything that made Killian who he was.

Slowly, the material fell away, first from his forehead then from the rest of his face.  Liam smoothed out the sheet carefully, reaching over Killian to tuck it in securely across his chest.  He’d done that as a boy so many times, checking in on Killian one more time before he could sleep.  And now, Killian was… he was… Liam laid his hand gently down on Killian’s thigh, as if he would disturb him if he held on any tighter.  Killian looked…

He looked wrong.

* * *

  ** _Look at the amazing art that[cocohook38](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr made for this [scene](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com/post/181556817606/clear-and-present-danger-ch14-by-icecubelotr44)!_**

* * *

People say that the dead look like they’re just sleeping, that they look at peace, that they… Killian was never at peace when he slept, always furrowing his brows or twitching some muscle or another; he always dreamed as vibrantly as he lived.  There was none of that in the slack face turned towards the ceiling.

A sob worked its way past Liam’s defenses, echoing through the room and assaulting him just as surely as if he’d been struck repeatedly.  Killian’s hair was wild, far too long and untamed.  Liam had lectured his brother only last week about letting it get unprofessional and giving Gold ammunition with which to sully his record further.

Now Gold was dead and Killian was… he was… Liam had…

“God, Killian, why didn’t you just… why couldn’t I just… I… God, I’m _sorry,_ little brother.  I should have been better, should have been able to protect you.  And now you’re… and I’m… I can’t…” he trailed off, paralyzed by everything that he couldn’t hold back any longer.  His head bowed, the slump of his shoulders too much to keep it upright.  Tears dripped onto the sheet, dampening the fabric over Killian’s heart and tearing at Liam even further.  He couldn’t stay here.  He needed to go.  He needed his brother.  He needed… he didn’t know what he needed any more.

He needed the person who’d caused this to suffer like he was suffering.

No.  No, he needed the person who’d caused this to be erased from existence like his brother had been.

The grief burned white hot, searing away the pain and the regret and leaving only anger in its wake.  Gold was gone by Liam’s own bullet, but his benefactor was still out there.  Hades had to pay.

Liam swiped away the tears that remained on his cheeks, ignoring the sting in his eyes.  He brushed back some of the hair from Killian’s forehead, trying to tame it into some semblance of the artfully disheveled style that his brother preferred.  His fingers tangled in the locks, tightening to a point that would have been painful if Killian were…

“I love you, little brother,” he whispered, his lips a hair's breadth away from Killian’s forehead.  “I love you and I’m going to make sure I finish what you started.  Even if it’s not how you would have wanted it.  He won’t hurt anyone else.”

Liam brushed a kiss over his little brother’s cold skin, much like he’d done when they were children and one of them or the other had woken from a nightmare.

No one was ever going to wake from _this_ nightmare.

“I love you, Killian.  And I’m sorry for everything.”  Liam hovered over his brother for a moment longer, letting the tears drip down onto Killian’s cheeks as he tried to breathe through all the emotions coursing through him.  God, he missed the numbness already.

Straightening up, Liam grasped the sheet again and tugged it up to Killian’s chin, his entire body shaking as he closed his eyes and tried to summon the courage to cover his brother’s face.  As soon as he did that, it was final.  He’d never see Killian outside of his casket again.

Dark mahogany.  Liam thought Killian would like that for his final resting place.

Choking back a sob, Liam managed to drape the sheet over Killian’s face reverently before bowing his head to rest his forehead on Killian’s.

“Goodbye, little brother.”

Without giving himself time to falter, Liam pushed Killian back into the drawer and shut the door gently.  The audible _click_ of the latch snagging shut was deafening in the silence and rang in Liam’s ears long after the sound had faded.

He scrubbed the tears from his cheeks, but more just kept coming.  Liam had to clench his hand over his chest to try and regulate his breathing as he took one step and then another towards the door.  It felt as though he were physically tied to Killian, every step he took away pulled the rope tighter around his chest until finally, beyond the door and back in the hallway, it snapped.  Killian was gone; there was nothing tethering him against the storm anymore.

Liam turned towards the elevator, unsure if he had the strength to climb the stairs and get out of the hospital, away from the place that failed his brother as utterly as he had, towards the man who needed to pay for Killian’s death.

Emma was collapsed against the wall next to the elevator, her knees tucked into her chest and red-rimmed eyes following his movements.  “Emma?”

“Hey,” she croaked back, her voice thick with tears of her own.  She looked nearly as wrecked as he felt and it did something to his heart.  He’d alternated between being angry with her and glad that his brother had found her for as long as they’d been acquainted.  But now, with Killian gone and Liam alone, he found that he needed the common ground they’d found in his brother.

“Did you” - he cleared his throat to rid himself of the knot in his throat - “did you want to go in?  Say your good- goodbyes?”

Emma just shook her head, finally lifting her head off her knees to meet his eye.  “I can’t,” she whispered.

Liam nodded back.  He understood that.  “It’s all right,” he absolved her.

Emma shot to her feet, anger rolling off her in waves.  “It’s not,” she hissed, but she jammed a finger against the button for the elevator in spite of her words.

Liam took a step back subconsciously before he squared his shoulders.  “No, it’s not,” he agreed.

Emma visibly deflated before she looked over his shoulder towards the doors to the morgue.  “Want a chance to make the bastard who did this regret ever hearing your brother’s name?”

Liam shuddered at the rage boiling just under the surface of her words.  He reached for the white hot anger that had started to burn when he’d thought of Hades while saying goodbye to Killian.  The anger was safer, it was easier to handle.  It kept him from thinking too much about what his little brother would say, what David would do, what would happen to him afterwards.  None of that mattered.

Liam Jones would burn down the entire world if it would bring the man who had orchestrated Killian’s death to justice.  It was clear to him that Emma was on the same page.

“Aye, lass.  Let’s make him pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> I promise, if you stick around to the end, the next two chapters are worth it. I promise!


	15. Vigilantism

The problem, it seemed, with telling Hades to go to Hell in a handbasket was that he was no longer willing to take Liam’s phone calls.  That, in turn, made it far more difficult to find the bloody bastard and take the price of Killian’s death out on his worthless hide before sending him to the Underworld.  Liam seethed, listening to the police scanner as Emma called every contact she had who owed her a favor or six.  Part of him wanted - _needed_ \- to call David, to have his partner by his side for what might very well turn out to be his last suspect chase.

Liam didn’t much care if he survived this or not.

That, coupled with the questionable legality of this venture, was most of the reason Liam hadn’t let Nolan _or_ Locksley know where he and Emma had holed up.  They’d both either jump at the chance to help and end their careers or they’d try to be the voices of reason, slowing Emma and Liam down and letting Hades get further away.

Hades wasn’t walking away from this.  Not while he was still breathing.

Emma looked nearly as furious as he felt.  Contact after contact either refused to answer the unknown number from the burner phone she’d bought or they couldn’t - or sometimes flat out _wouldn’t_ \- help.

“Son of a _bitch_!” she shouted as she slammed the ancient looking flip phone closed.  “Just answer the goddamned phone!”

Liam knew better than to ask, to speak, practically to _breathe_ lest he turn her ire onto himself.  They’d both been short the past two days, had had their fair share of fights with each other over trivial things.

It seemed that Killian was the only thing he and Emma could agree on.  He didn’t deserve to die like that.  He deserved to be avenged.

_Bloody hell,_ he deserved to be happy and healthy and _alive_ , grousing over Liam’s needling and Emma’s… well, he deserved to be able to know the love they both shared for him.  Killian would be _pissed_ at what they were doing.  Not that Liam thought for an instant that his little brother wouldn’t do exactly the same if their roles were reversed.

God, he wished their roles were reversed.   _Killian_ was the good cop.   _Killian_ was the hero.  Liam was just the baggage he had to carry around.  The worthless git who couldn’t keep up with the image his little brother had of him.  It was Liam’s job to protect Killian from the world, not to… not to murder him, himself.

Liam shut those thoughts down as quickly as he could, but not before they’d doubled him over like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Stop thinking about it,” Emma commanded, fixing him with a glare that would have cowed every instructor at the Academy.

Liam nodded, filing the emotions and the memories away for a time more suited to a glass or ten of scotch and no bloody demon to vanquish.  There would be time to mourn Killian later.

If there _was_ a later.

“Have we learned anything new?” Liam asked rather continue to dwell on _that_ happy thought.

Emma shook her head.  “Everyone I’ve managed to get a hold of is either a dead end or ‘will look into it’,” she said the last bit with every bit of mocking derision she could muster up.

Liam was a little impressed by it.  He’d thought his little brother had cornered the market on dramatic, but now…

_No!_ he thought angrily at himself.  This was _not_ the time.  Killian and all the feelings associated with him other than vengeance needed to stay locked in a box.

“Hades must know by now that I’m coming for him,” Liam threw in sadly.  “I almost wish I hadn’t-”

“Don’t,” Emma ordered again.  “You can’t do that to yourself.  You were under his thumb for far too long, Liam.  It was the right thing to do.”

“It got Killian ki-”

Emma stomped her foot and strode forward, jabbing Liam in the chest with her finger.  “ _Gold_ got Killian kil… it was Gold’s fault, not _yours_.  He was coming for us either way; the timing was just…” she trailed off.

“There was never going to be a good time for Gold to show up,” Liam agreed half-heartedly.  “But if Killian had been in top form… if he hadn’t been so hurt…”

“Then Gold would have changed the status quo so that Killian had no choice but to… to…”

It seemed neither of them could finish their sentences when it came to Liam’s little brother.  He scoffed, almost genuinely.  “My God, could I ever rile him up calling him ‘little brother’.  He used to love it, you know?  When we were very little, he’d go around telling anyone and everyone that he was ‘Liam Jones’s little brother’.  He’d say it like it was something to be proud of.”

“It is, Liam,” Emma allowed.  “He loved being your brother.  He always did.”

“Aye.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, both pouring over document after document on their respective laptops.  Between the information the department had on Hades and Liam’s documentation of every meeting he’d had with the man and his lackeys, they had plenty of paper trails to follow.

But none of them were worth a damn if Hades had decided to go to ground after learning that Killian Jones was dead right along with Robert Gold.  The man had far too many contacts and far too much capital to be caught if he didn’t want to be found.  Hubris might be his downfall, however, and it was Liam’s only hope at the moment.  It was all he had going for him.

If his little brother’s death was going to mean anything, then Liam had to finish what he’d started.  Had to _truly_ finish it.

Only then could Killian rest.

Emma pounded the desk in frustration, shaking the box of pushpins and the flashlight that balanced precariously against the lamp.

“We’ll find him, Emma,” Liam tried to reassure, but it sounded hollow, even to his ears.  Hades’ bank account statements were as good as frozen, his assets untouched.  There was nothing to find on paper; they were just wasting time here.

“We’re wasting our goddamned time!” Emma echoed his thoughts as if he’d spoken aloud.

Liam nodded, shutting the laptop and folding his hands on top of it.  “We are.  Hades has no reason to do anything rash right now.  Killian’s de- he’s no longer a threat.  Nottingham’s death means that anything that ties Hades to Gold is hearsay at best.  I’m…” he trailed off, eyes wide as he stared at Emma.

“No.”

But Liam’s brain was already spinning.

“No, Liam,” Emma said again, looking angrier and angrier as he continued to stare.

Liam grinned ferally.  “It’ll work, Emma.  You know it will.”

“How would we even contact him?  You’ve already tried.”  She nodded at Liam’s burner phone.

Liam shrugged.  “Turn on my actual phone.  You know he’s tracking me.  Make it seem like _I’m_ running…”

“There’s no guarantee he’d come himself.”

Liam raised an eyebrow.  “The last man standing who can take him down?  He nearly lost everything trusting Gold to take care of Killian.  He’ll come, Emma.  He’ll be there to make sure.”

“Killian wouldn’t want this, Liam,” Emma tried.

“Well he’s bloody well not here to stop me, now is he?” Liam shouted, whirling on her.

Emma’s eyes widened, but then her nostrils flared.  “And whose fault is that?” she screamed back.

Liam felt like he’d been shot.

“I…” she gulped and shook her head.  “I’m sorry, Liam.  I didn’t mean that.”

Liam sat down - or, rather, his legs gave out and dropped him in a chair unceremoniously.  “Doesn’t make it any less true, lass.  Let me make it up to him.  Let me be the bait.”

“He’d kick my ass if I did,” Emma reminded him.

Liam laughed humorously.  “Aye, and mine, too.  But he didn’t even get a chance to get closure for Milah before… I _need_ to do this, Emma.  Please.”

Emma nodded slowly, still looking anything but happy about his idea.  “I’d rather be with you than try to stop you, I guess,” was her only answer.

“I’ll take it, lass.  Now,” he ordered, not giving her a chance to change her mind, “we have a lot of work to do.”

It was more difficult than he’d thought, however, to come up with a good place to stage the showdown.  It always worked out so well in the movies: find the equivalent of an Old West style box canyon, stash weapons behind every crevice, and then call out the bad guy in the black Stetson.

In reality, it was a lot more effort to find unregistered weapons.  For all Liam had been under Hades’ thumb, he’d never really crossed the line more than he’d had to.  Not like most of the man’s minions, and certainly not like Gold had done.  He had his own, personal weapon stashed away in a safe in the apartment, of course.  And Emma had a small arsenal to her name, apparently.  But as much as Liam didn’t care what happened to him, he didn’t want this to end up with Emma rotting in a prison cell for his vendetta.

Killian would come back from the dead to murder him if Liam survived that.  And he’d haunt him in Hell for all eternity if he didn’t.

The ‘where’ was the easier option to figure out.  Hades had any number of warehouses near the Harbor that he used for shipping goods and property overseas.  Not all of them were monitored at all times and they could use his own holdings against him.  Liam knew of one, in particular, that was right on the water and had a speedboat moored just outside.  He and Hades had met there several times, the water and a rented boat of his own giving him a quick getaway if he’d needed.

Part of Liam wanted to finish this on the _Jolly Roger_ … _damnit, Killian, I’m not calling her_ that _anymore…_ but he couldn’t bring himself to risk the ship.  The _Jolly_ had meant too much to his brother, to _both_ of them, to risk her now.

And, goddamnit, he’d keep calling her the bloody _Jolly Roger_ for as long as she was seaworthy.  No matter how much it made him feel like a fool to captain a storybook character’s ship.

Liam still thought the _Jewel of the Realm_ sounded much more regal, but he’d lost that bet a long time ago.

Finally, a contact of Emma’s - a woman named Lily who Liam trusted about as far as he could throw her - came through with a cache of weapons that they weren’t to ask as to the origins.  All they needed to know, she’d assured them, that any ballistics trace would lead back to some very cold cases with suspects who were either already doing life or had been shot down before they could be taken into custody.

Liam didn’t want to know anything else.

Neither did Emma.

It took them another three days to scout the area and assure that it was currently unused and unguarded.  Slowly, he and Emma began moving in the stolen weapons into blinds and slips throughout the office where they planned to confront Hades.  They mapped the exits and likely places for Hades to order his own men for backup.

They were as ready as they were going to get.

“I still don’t like this,” Emma mumbled as she rubbed charcoal over her face.  She had her own hiding spot picked out where she could be overwatch for Liam’s back.  “I’d rather be down there.”

“I’m not go-”

“I swear to God,” she interrupted, “if you say that you’re not going to risk me over this, I’ll shoot you myself.  In the ass.”

Liam gulped.  The statement was funny, but the look on Emma’s face and her tone of voice was anything but.  He nodded his acquiescence, but didn’t say anything else.

“The first sign of trouble, and I’m down there, you understand?” Emma asked, punctuating each word with a step towards him.  “I won’t sit by and watch while Hades kills you just because you think you owe some kind of penance to Killian for what happened at the cabin.”

Liam opened his mouth to deny it, to tell her to stay put, to… he didn’t even know anymore.  So he did perhaps the first smart thing he’d done since they started talking and shut his mouth.

“Good.”

God, Killian would kill him if he let anything happen to Em- no.  Killian wouldn’t kill him.  Killian _couldn’t_ kill him.  Liam sighed, checking the clip of the unfamiliar Sig Sauer for the fourth time.  It was full, there were three extra clips stashed in various pockets, and there were a number more strategically placed throughout the warehouse.

Liam really didn’t want to know the details as to how they’d gotten their hands on so much ammunition.

“I think we’re ready,” Emma said quietly.  Liam still heard the uncharacteristic waver in her voice.  “I’m going to head out and get in position.  You’ll wait until 7:30 tonight and then turn on your phone, right?”

Liam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, checking the clip again even as he eyed the SIM card from his normal phone resting on the table.  They were both on edge, knowing what this meant and refusing to muck this up over some trivial detail.  “Aye.  And then I’ll take Storrow up to the Harbor and set up shop in the office, looking for the keys to Hades’ boat.  We’ll get him, lass.”

Emma nodded.  “We have to,” was the last thing she’d say to him before all hell broke loose hours later.

***

Liam waited by the door.  He paced the length of the hallway.  He checked and rechecked his weapon.  He brought out the cleaning kit and meticulously went over every inch of the gun Killian had given to him that day at the cabin.  He paced some more.  He made a bowl of pasta before staring at it until it cooled and then tossing it in the rubbish.

He wasn’t nervous.  No, not at all.

Finally, after what seemed like days, it was time to go.  Liam checked the clip on his Sig for the umpteenth time, pried the back of his phone open, and inserted the SIM card.  Two minutes - and a lot of cursing - later and the phone was on and broadcasting his location to whoever was looking.

Liam was positive that Hades was looking.

He left the ratty old apartment with its mice and questionable stains behind and headed down to the street, finally getting annoyed with his phone trying to explode in his pocket and turning it on silent.

There were over a hundred messages from David alone.

Liam was caught up in the need to call his partner again, wanting Nolan at his back when he did this.  But no, he wouldn’t put David through that.  Liam would rather have the man pissed at him forever than risk being gunned down - or worse - in front of him.  Besides, David had a family to provide for; Liam had nothing to lose.

It seemed the car ride took forever and yet was over in the blink of an eye.  Liam pulled into the warehouse’s parking lot and stashed the old beater deep in the shadows of the building.  Emma was here somewhere, hiding in the catwalks with as good of a view as she could find of the office.

He was trusting her - and no one else - to watch his back.  Liam hoped that Killian’s trust in her hadn’t been misplaced.

_Not that it matters as long as I get Hades first_ , Liam thought derisively as he slid open the door just enough to squeeze inside.  This would be over before it began if he tripped some kind of silent alarm or a well-meaning patrolman saw the door opening.

It was eerie inside the building, the cold winter’s evening doing nothing to combat the chill.  The moon’s light filtering through broken window panes cast everything into sharp contrast, making Liam jump every time he moved.  What was that line? _You’re not paranoid if people are actually after you._  Liam was certain that several people were after him, and any number of them could be hiding in the shadows.

Despite seeing images of hitmen and lackeys behind every box, Liam made it to the office unscathed.  He set his phone down on the desk and started rifling through the drawers.  He saw the keys under some files in the first one he looked through, but the boat wasn’t really his goal.

“Did you really think you could steal from me after turning your back on my generous offers?” an oily voice echoed through the room.

_Hades_.

Hades was his goal and the bloody bastard had sauntered right into their trap without a care in the world.

“You bloody _bastard_!” Liam shouted, coming around the desk to face the man head on and this _wasn’t the plan_.  “My brother-”

“Your _brother_ was a crimp in my plans and the only thing keeping you from reaching your full potential within my organization.”

Liam stumbled to a stop.  The man was deranged.  He’d thought that Killian was holding him _back_?  His head started shaking before the words even formed.  “If it wasn’t for my brother, I’d have put you behind bars the first time you cornered me on the _Jolly Roger_.   _Killian_ was your only bargaining chip and your lap dog killed him, you… you… you _demon_!”

Hades shrugged.  “An unfortunate mistake and one I would have rectified myself if you hadn’t taken out Robert yourself.  He was under orders _not_ to harm Killian, if you remember correctly.  That was part of the deal we made.  A deal that _I_ never went back on, unlike you.”

“Don’t you dare speak his name,” Liam hissed vehemently.  “You don’t deserve to even _think_ about my brother.”

The smirk on the bastard’s face had to go.  “Your brother was… shall we say, becoming problematic.  He and his little princess were coming far too close to discovering my ties to your depart… I’m sorry, it’s not yours any longer.” - he nodded to Liam’s side, where he’d been stabbed the year before - “Regardless.  They were going to erase my ties to _Killian’s_ department and I wasn’t going to stand for that.  Robert got cocky.  Just.  Like.  You.”

Liam heard the muffled shouting before Hades was finished and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.  He pulled the Sig Sauer from the small of his back finally and aimed it at Hades’ heart.  “I can end you; right here, right now.”

“Ah ah ah,” Hades tutted, not flinching with the barrel of the gun pointed at him.  “You might no longer care about yourself, but what about…”

He turned his back on Liam as the door to the office opened again.

“Miss Swan, how nice of you to join us.”

* * *

Emma hated waiting.  For coffee in the morning, for leads to come in, for stakeouts to come to fruition, for Killian to… _nope_.  She hated waiting.  She hated being kept on the sidelines even more, and this… this felt a lot like being sidelined.  She shifted in the rafters again, her burner phone off but still digging into her hip where she was lying uncomfortably on it.  She should have just left it in the car - there was no one she could call now and no one who would be calling her.  Liam was the only one with the number anyway and he had no reason to get ahold of her.

They knew the plan.  They had gone over it so many times and it was a good plan.  It would work and Hades wouldn’t be leaving here alive.  A tiny part of Emma was screaming in the background about justice and vengeance and vigilantism, but the part of her that had been consumed with grief after losing Killian shut it up quicker than she could blink.  Gold may have been the reason Killian had died but Hades was responsible and she wasn’t going to give him a chance to wield his power from a prison cell.

No, Hades was going to find his end here, today, and Emma knew that of all the things they disagreed on, she and Liam were on the same page with this.

Now she just had to find a way to keep Liam alive throughout this whole mess.

Emma rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks before she had to actually focus.  They’d agreed that she should get here hours ahead of time to scout out the location, but there wasn’t a soul within 500 yards of the place and nothing was moving in the cavernous room below her other than rats.

Which left Emma with far too much time to _think_.  She thought about what Killian would have thought about all this.  She thought about what might have happened with them if he’d had time to come to terms with Milah’s murderer being dead.  She thought about why she’d been so frightened of him and what they could be together.

She thought about the words she hadn’t said to him and if he knew she’d believed them.

Hours passed slowly, the dripping of water somewhere to her left doing nothing to speed up time.  She’d counted to a thousand and then backwards by sevens, she’d memorized the alphabet backwards in French, she’d named every capital and its state that she could remember - and would swear she got all 50 if anyone ever had reason to ask.

Finally, when it seemed like she was going to have to resort to naming every animal she’d ever heard of or something equally as ridiculous, Emma heard the warehouse door screech open.  She risked a look at her watch and frowned.  It was barely 7:30.  Liam shouldn’t have even left the safe house yet, never mind gotten through traffic and made his way into the building.

It wasn’t Liam.

Emma watched with bated breath, trying to see around an upright without moving.  She could just see the shadow of _someone_ standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and not moving.  There hadn’t been anyone here for days; it seemed highly unlikely that Hades would - all of a sudden - decide to use it on a Wednesday night in February.  Unless…

_Unless Hades already knows you’re here_.  The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Killian, which was enough to give her a moment’s pause.  He… or _she_ , she supposed, was right, though.  If their trap was actually a trap for Liam, for _them_ , then she had to get out of there.  She had to warn Liam.  She had to-

She had to take better stock of her surroundings.  No one could possibly know where she was in the warehouse, if they even knew she was already here.  The place was _huge_ and the scans they’d run over the past few scouting trips hadn’t revealed any cameras or wireless signals broadcasting off site.   _If_ there were cameras they’d missed, they were on a local feed and whoever was here hadn’t even come in the building yet.

_Don’t panic, don’t give your position away prematurely_ ; Emma’s training ran through her head even as she mapped possible exits.  She’d left herself three egress points from where she lay - the path up to the roof behind her as well as left and right along the catwalk.  Unless her interloper had friends, she had options.

Emma froze as a man finally walked around the I beam that had hidden him and stopped in a beam of light filtering through a window.  He was tall and skinny, his head darting back and forth wildly as he looked around the room.  There was something familiar about him, but Emma was sure she’d never seen him before.  He wasn’t looking up at _her_ , though, and that allowed her to breathe a little easier.

All she had to do was wait for him to move, to figure out why he was there, and she’d be set.  She could text Liam to let him know there was an unaccounted for variable and that would be that.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally the jumpy man left, sliding the door shut and leaving the warehouse blanketed in silence once more.

_Weird_ , Emma thought, her own sharp gaze flicking wildly around the room below her, trying to figure out what he’d done.  Why he’d been there.  Who he was.  She slid the burner phone out of her pocket and flipped it open, glad that - for all its lack of features - it remembered her brightness preferences.  Emma squinted in the darkness, trying to make out enough of the screen to pull up the texting page and then Liam’s number.

She never expected to be blinded by every one of the warehouse’s lights coming on in an instant.

Emma couldn’t bite back the cry of surprised pain as she slammed her eyes shut against the bright light that assaulted her vision.  She blinked rapidly, shielding her eyes from as much of the light with one hand and scrabbling to find the phone she’d dropped with the other.  She’d only just brushed over it with her fingers when a sound to her right startled her.

The next thing she heard was the crash of plastic shattering against concrete after her phone careened off the catwalk.

_Damnit_!

Ignoring the phone, Emma rolled onto her back, pulling her sidearm and aiming it at the noise she’d heard first.

A burly man stared back, his own weapon trained on her chest and how in the _hell_ had he gotten there without her hearing him?

“Get up,” he snarled, gesticulating with the weapon.  “Leave the gun.”

_Not bloody likely_ , Killian’s voice echoed in her ear as Emma got slowly to her feet.  She eyed her other two exits as she stood, surprised to find the spindly man she’d been watching aiming his own weapon at her from the ladder behind her.  How had he gotten _there_ so quickly?

“Kick the rifle off,” Burly ordered, cocking his pistol and leering at her.

Emma turned to face him, putting Panic at her left and keeping Burly in front of her.  She needed the rifle to watch Liam’s back once he got here, but she needed to not be dead in order to do that.

Emma hadn’t gotten as far as she had in life without learning how to improvise.  She took four huge steps back from the rifle instead, raising her weapon in supplication and wondering how far he’d let her go before-

**_ BANG! _ **

A bullet whizzed over her head and slammed into the wall far behind her.  Emma could hear the projectile ricocheting around the warehouse until, finally, it buried itself into something.

“That’s far enough, girlie,” Burly told her, his smile getting even more lewd as he blew on the barrel of the smoking gun.  “Boss wants you alive for his grand finale with Jones.”

Emma resisted the urge to hang her head.  If Hades knew who she was, and that Liam was coming, they’d never stood a chance.

She took another step back, watching Panic move steadily towards her and she wanted to swing the weapon down to bear on him, wanted him to back off, but Burly sent another bullet her way and this one nicked her ear.  Hot blood coursed down the side of her head even as she ducked away from the pain, clapping a hand over the wound and hissing when she put pressure on it.  Barely a graze, but enough to get the message across.

They had her dead to rights.

“Put.  The gun.  Down,” came the order from behind her.  A third man that she hadn’t even known was there poking his head out of the hatch from the ladder she’d climbed hours before.  His own weapon was trained on her back.

_Well, shit_.

Emma had no choice.  She put the gun down.

“Very good, lass,” the third man praised facetiously, grinning as he climbed off the ladder and moved towards her.  He motioned her backwards as he reached for her weapon, Panic’s own gun settling in the middle of her back.

She was trapped.

“This is some fancy hardware, love,” Burly commented idly as he picked up her rifle, swinging it around until the strap secured it to his back.

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Emma hissed, every muscle in her body tensing for a fight.

The third man snickered and took another step forward, jamming the barrel of his gun under her chin and twisting.  If not for Panic’s gun in her back, Emma would have made the asshole eat it.

“I’m going to have some fun making you _scream_ ,” he promised, and Emma named him Pain.

“Not if I get you first,” Emma whispered back, pleased to see a flicker of fear cross his features at her tone before he lifted his chin and grinned.

“Once the boss is done with you and your… did you switch brothers so quickly?  Is that what this is?”

Emma bristled.

“Guess not,” Pain continued as if they were exchanging idle gossip.  “Either way, I’m going to have fun breaking you when Jones is drowning in his own blood.”

Emma’s sarcastic retort was cut off when he reached out and pinched her bleeding ear, twisting and giggling when she tried to suppress the cry of pain.

“Enough,” Burly commanded.  “Boss wants her quiet until Jones gets here.”

Emma didn’t have enough time to think about what that meant before the lights went out - metaphorically and physically.

***

When Emma finally came around, she was lying on her stomach with a gag in her mouth and one of the men sitting on her back.

“We’ve just got to wait for the signal, girlie,” the man sitting on her tapped the back of her head with what felt like his gun.   _Burly, then_ , she thought.  “Then you and lover boy can be reunited.”

Emma didn’t know if he was smart enough to mean Killian or dumb enough to mean Liam.

It took a few moments but soon Emma heard the screech of the warehouse door and measured footsteps echoing over the concrete floor she was lying on.

_Run, Liam!  Get out of here!_ she muttered angrily as she thought the commands as loudly as she could.  She could see Panic pacing the floor in front of her and hear Pain’s amused breathy chuckles to her side.  This was her last chance.  If she could just make some kind of commotion… if she could…

“Don’t even think about it,” Burly ordered as he slid the cool metal over her throbbing ear.  “You wouldn’t get two steps before we took you out and Jones is already a dead man walking.”

Emma squirmed anyway, ignoring the way Pain kicked her in the side and Burly shouted for him to be careful - he’d almost nailed the idiot in the jewels.  There was nothing for it; she’d have to wait for some more of Hades’ plan to work itself out before she could find a way to escape.

To keep herself and Liam alive until they could regroup.

All too soon, she was dragged to her feet, her hands still bound behind her and the dried blood on her neck pulling at the little hairs there.  Emma’s eyes watered as she was shoved along, Pain and Panic each taking an arm as Burly prodded her with his gun.

She was going to make him eat a bullet first chance she got.

“Ah ah ah,” she heard Hades scold someone - probably Liam.  Her heart sank.  “You might no longer care about yourself, but what about…”

Emma stumbled as Pain shoved her out of Panic’s hold and into the room.  He didn’t give her a chance to straighten up before he’d clamped one hand around her neck and jammed the pistol into the base of her skull.

“Miss Swan,” Hades continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, brandishing - of all things - a nasty looking dagger, “how nice of you to join us.”

Liam looked broken, holding his weapon shakily on Hades but looking at her like his world had ended.  And, she realized quickly, if they didn’t find a way to turn this on its head, it very likely had.  They wouldn’t survive this without some kind of intervention and Liam would never rest if he didn’t avenge Killian first.

Neither would she.

“Let her go, you bastard.  It’s me you want.”

Emma almost rolled her eyes.  Leave it to a Jones to be chivalrous to a fault.  Even when it was futile.

“Actually,” Hades spoke as if he were teaching a toddler, “it’s both of you.  Did you miss the part where Miss Swan, here, is hellbent on taking down my entire organization?”

Pain shook her as if Liam needed the reminder that she was there.  Emma’s head was spinning, stars beginning to cloud her vision.  She needed to breathe.

“Let. Her. Go.” Liam commanded again, his hand shaking more violently as he raised the point of the gun a little higher.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Hades began conversationally.  “Miss Swan is going to keep us company for a little while.  I’m sure my… associates will have some interesting things to show her.  Then-”

Burly piped up.  “Then you’re gonna-”

Hades nodded once and Pain pulled his gun away from Emma’s head long enough to put a bullet through Burly’s skull.

“I don’t like when you interrupt me,” Hades spoke to the corpse.  Panic started fidgeting, hopping from foot to foot and swinging his own gun wildly from Burly to Liam and back again.

“As I was saying,” Hades continued, “While these two imbeciles are keeping Miss Swan company, _you’re_ going to go down to the precinct and make sure that any files on me have been erased.”

Liam shook his head.  “Not a chance.  Let Emma go.  She has access to the files; I don’t.”

Hades laughed.  “I’m sure you can get… creative.”

“And what if I don’t?  What if I” - he swung the weapon to sight in on Panic - “just take out your men one by one?”

Panic blanched, his eyes frozen on Hades while his gun hovered somewhere close to pointing at Liam’s abdomen.

_Not a good shot, then_ , Emma thought, watching Liam warily.

Apparently he had the same idea, if the next few minutes of utter _chaos_ were any indication.  Emma sagged completely in Pain’s grasp, falling to the floor and nearly passing out when his hand tightened around her neck.  But it gave Liam the opening he needed to shoot the bastard in the neck, killing him in the time it took Pain to sag to the ground and collapse on top of her.

“Liam!  Look out!” was all Emma could yell from where she was pinned to the floor, watching in slow motion as Hades snarled, raising the knife and charging across the room.  Panic fired his weapon, spinning Liam around and out of Hades’ direct path, but that was the only shot he was able to fire off as another bullet came out of nowhere, stopping him dead in his tracks as he looked down, comically almost, at the spreading flower of blood on his chest.  He threw one scathing look towards the door before he hit his knees and fell, face first, onto Burly’s back.

“Detective!” a voice shouted from behind her, but with the adrenaline flowing and the fear taking hold, Emma had no idea _who_ was shouting.

Liam’s left hand clutched at his shoulder as he turned just in time to catch Hades’ arm as it arced towards his unprotected back.  They both fell to the floor in a tussle of limbs that left Emma lost as to who was whom.

“Detective?” a voice asked, booted feet in front of her as whoever it was watched the scene in front of him.  Emma tried to look up, but only got as far as jean-clad knees before Pain’s bulk halted her movements.

“Fine!” she shouted.  “Help Liam!”

Someone else kneeled next to her and Emma’s head whirled around, making something snap audibly in her neck and causing her to cry out.

“Hold on, Detective,” the other voice soothed, placing his gun on the ground in her line of sight before disappearing.  

Seconds later, the weight on her back disappeared and Emma scrambled to her feet, snatching up the gun and pointing it at whoever moved.

Robin and David both stared at her with raised eyebrows before turning back to the melee at their feet.  Every time one of them tried to get close enough to pull the grappling men apart, the knife slashed out and backed them up.  Emma tried to train her gun on Hades, but it was a lost cause; there was too much movement to ensure that she wouldn’t hit Liam.

“Help him!” she shouted again, dizzy now that she’d paused for a moment.  Adrenaline could only overcome so much and Emma had been unconscious for a considerable amount of time before this.

“We’re trying!” David shouted at her, looking as lost and terrified as she and Liam had felt after Killian was shot.

Robin peeled his gun out of Emma’s hands as she wavered, nearly stumbling into David.  She couldn’t see straight now and relinquished the weapon as she started to buckle back to the ground.  Arms held her up, slowing her descent, but couldn’t stop her fall.

She shook off the help, watching with bated breath as the two men rolled again.  “Help him, _please_ ,” she muttered, not knowing how they could do anything but watch.

David was shaking next to her, resting on one knee and gripping his weapon as if he could will it to fire the right shot.  “He needs this,” was all he muttered.

And then, it all ended in a flash of light and the smell of gunpowder and the pained shout that drowned out everything else.

Hades had gotten the advantage, one hand clasped around Liam’s as it choked the life out of him and the other raising the knife above his head.  Robin was the one who took the shot, firing through the middle of Hades’ back and not taking any chances with a head shot.  It didn’t matter; Hades was dead before he fell, but the damage was done.  The path of his knife drove it into Liam’s side as he landed on top of him, and Emma heard the clink of metal chipping concrete even as Liam screamed.

“NO!” they all shouted, and time sped up as Emma scrambled to his side, securing the knife in her hand as David peeled Hades’ corpse off of Liam’s chest.  Liam’s blood ran hot over her hand as she grabbed the shirt Robin pressed against the wound.

“Son of a bitch!” Robin muttered as he pulled out his phone.  “Killian is going to murder me for this.”

Everything stopped.

Emma started to shake.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her hands went numb.

Her eyes started to water.

She’d never been this cold.

She couldn’t hear anything.

Nothing except Robin’s words echoing.

“Killian is going to murder me.”

_Killian!_

Is.  Present tense.

Present.

Alive?

Emma’s eyes swiveled up, fighting off the blackness that was encroaching on her vision as she silently begged Robin to explain.

“Kil… Killian?” she croaked, her voice cracking on every syllable.

Robin nodded.  “I tried to find you two.  Bloody hell, would it have been too much to leave a damned phone on?  I didn’t have time to tell you beforehand and then, by the time we got him settled, you were gone.  He’s going to have my head for worrying you guys like this.”

Emma just shook her head, sure that it was some kind of oxygen deprived hallucination.  “Wh- what?”

Robin shrugged apologetically, holding up a finger when his phone finally connected with a dispatcher.

Emma whirled on David, snarling when he tried to move her out of the way to put pressure on the wound in Liam’s shoulder.  “What?” she screamed again, well aware that she sounded a little hysterical.

“I didn’t know, Emma.  I swear, I wouldn’t have done this to him” - he nodded at Liam - “or to you.  Robin got some credible intel from one of their sources that Hades had put a price on Killian’s head.  He didn’t have time, and he didn’t think about anything.  He just… he got Whale to fake Killian’s death.  You two disappeared before we could tell you.”

Emma stared for another minute before she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.  Jones was _alive_!  Killian was… he was… they could…

Liam groaned, not really conscious and not aware that his life was slipping away and his goddamned brother was _alive!_  Emma pushed down harder around the knife, careful not to slice her hand open but unwilling to let him slip away.

It wasn’t going to be enough.  Liam went slack beneath her hands as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and then closed.

“Don’t you dare!” Emma shouted, pushing down harder on the gaping wound and ignoring the way her palm split open along the blade, their blood mingling together on the wadded up shirt.  

Liam went frighteningly limp and Emma swore.

“You self righteous asshat!  You don't get to die and leave me to tell Killian you were a goddamned hero!”

 


	16. Out of Service

Everything hurt.  It hurt too much for him to be in a hospital and too much for this to be a dream or a hallucination.  He had no idea what had happened or where he was or why everything hurt this much and Liam wasn’t here.  Hadn’t Liam been with him?  It was all a bit fuzzy, but he could have sworn he was at the cabin with Liam and Emma and everything had hurt there, but not like _this_.  

It felt like he’d been shot.

Had it been a dream?  Maybe he’d never left the warehouse.  Maybe he was still being held captive.  Maybe Emma had never come to his rescue.  Maybe… maybe-

And then it all slammed back into him like a rogue wave of memories.  The cabin and Gold and being shot and Gold was dead and Liam had sounded so broken and where was Emma and hadn’t Gold died and was it over and-

And _where_ was his _brother?_

Killian’s eyes shot open and _nothing_ looked familiar.  The walls were some terrifying shade of green that looked nothing like Emma’s eyes in any light.  The bed was hard and small and the blankets were scratchy and the linens smelled stale.  His breath caught in his throat and no one was in the room with him so Killian shot up, adrenaline allowing him to sit up in the bed just long enough for the sheets to pool around his waist before tearing pain spiraled out from his shoulder and he fell back against the pillows, panting and sweating and shivering.  He was pretty sure his stomach was going to turn inside out if he didn’t find a bucket.

“For the love of _God_ , Jones, you’d better not have torn my stitches!” a familiar voice shouted from the doorway and Killian’s head lolled off of the pillow to see who was holding him captive.

Victor Whale.

_What the_ hell _was going on?_

Killian stared, sure now that - despite the pain radiating through him - this was some kind of concussion-induced hallucination.  And not even an enjoyable one.  He needed better pain meds.

Or _any_ pain meds, for that matter.

“Wha-” Killian croaked, only now realizing how dry his mouth was and how long he must have been out.

“Quiet,” Whale ordered, crossing the room and fiddling with something on the IV pole that was clearly _not_ pain medication.  The next thing Killian knew, the brusque doctor had pulled back the tape securing bulky gauze across his chest.

“Ow!” he shouted, trying to curl in on himself and pull away from the pain as it increased tenfold.  The tape pulled hairs as it ripped away, but it was nothing compared to the gauze yanking away from his skin.  “Bloody hell, man!”

“Oh, hush.  You’re not dead.”

Killian blinked as Whale blanched, suddenly much more gentle as he prodded at the angry, red skin that Killian could only just glimpse if he closed one eye and ducked his chin as close to his chest as the wound would let him.

“What?” Killian asked.  “What am I missing?  And where’s my brother?”

Whale ignored him, tutting in annoyance and turning to walk away.

“Whale!” Killian tried to sit up again, nearly curling up in pain when his shoulder protested.

The doctor turned around, squatting down to root in a bag Killian hadn’t noticed by the door.  “Relax, Rambo.  Just stay put.”

Killian scowled, but relaxed his muscles and tried to stay still.  It didn’t take a detective to realize something was wrong and, despite Gold’s meddling involvement, he’d earned that badge.  He’d been injured before - hell, he’d been _shot_ before - and Liam had practically needed a restraining order filed to go further than the nurses’ desk.  And that was only to complain about his brother’s lack of care.

He’d had to apologize to security _and_ to Elsa before he was allowed back inside.

Liam had muttered something about Elsa being far more terrifying.

Whale came back promptly and, without making eye contact, jabbed something into the port on the IV line.  “Just relax, Detective, before you undo all my hard work and the risk to my job is for nothing.”

Killian blinked.  The pain started to abate while he was still trying to decipher Whale’s words and the bloody wanker _still_ hadn’t told him where Liam was.  The room around him started to blur and Killian fought the pull of sleep.  He had to stay awake.  He had to know if Liam was all right.

Then, something more pressing filtered through the haze of morphine or whatever Whale had dosed him with.

He couldn’t feel his left hand.

“Frank?” Killian asked, his voice catching as he stared at his fingers, willing them to _move_.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve asked you not to call me that.  I am _not_ Doctor Frankenstein!” Whale growled, reorganizing the things in his bag.  “Go to sleep.”

Killian tried harder, tensing up every muscle he could and hissing as his shoulder protested.

His fingers remained limp and lifeless on top of the bedclothes.  “Doc?” he tried again, blinking rapidly as his breathing stuttered.  His _hand_.  Something was wrong with his hand.

“What?” Whale snapped, moving back to his bedside.  “Your brother will be here as soon as David fi- oh.”

He had the grace to look abashed when Killian turned tortured eyes on him.  “I… I can’t… what’s going on, Frank?”

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose your arm,” Whale muttered, lifting Killian’s hand carefully and rotating it.  “The bullet must have had some kind of magic spell on it or something because you didn’t bleed out and it was high enough not to damage your lungs.  There _was_ a lot of damage, though, and there’s a lot of swelling.  I don’t know what that’s going to look like in six weeks or three months or a year.  We had to do a lot of work just to stabilize you and then…”

Killian shook his head, trying to clear the fog that was insistent on dragging him under.  He was missing something, something important, but he couldn’t _think_ past six weeks, three months, or a _year_.  Or ever.  God, he needed his hand.  He needed to be able to…

Whale was still looking at him as if he were a broken toy when the pain meds dragged him under.

***

He didn’t really remember waking over the next few days, drifting in between the haze of meds and sleep that was fraught with memories, with nightmares, with chilling thoughts.  And he woke every time, shivering and frightened and looking around for one of two familiar sets of eyes.  Killian remembered seeing Robin, remembered asking David where his partner was, could recall Mills’ sheepish looks when he realized it wasn’t _him_ being called for.

But not Liam.  Not Emma.

The changing of the bandages was the worst, pulling and cleaning and what felt like Whale attacking him with a scalpel - though that may have been the meds talking.  His shoulder was on fire and his body was freezing and through it all, his hand stayed silent and unmoving.  Just a lump of flesh and bone resting on his stomach.

Killian was afraid and Liam wasn’t there to make it better.

The nightmares _almost_ weren’t more frightening than his waking moments.  In his dreams, his hand was gone - replaced by a hook ala Captain Hook sailing the open seas on the _Jolly Roger_ , he couldn’t save Liam, he couldn’t save Emma, Gold always won.  The images flitted past too quickly to dwell on, but jarring enough to keep him from truly resting.  He had no real memory of how he’d gotten here, just images mostly.  Liam and Emma fighting, the slam of the door when Emma left.  Gold.  The fear on Liam’s face.  And the one certainty that he thought he could cling to: Gold was dead.  But Emma and Liam _weren’t here with him_.

It was, perhaps, the one thing he couldn’t get past.  If nothing had happened to them - if he wasn’t blocking out Gold killing them before shooting him - then why weren’t they here?  And where was he?  And why weren’t they with him?

No one would tell him anything.

Emma had left.  She had taken his jacket. He remembered that clearly because he’d hoped it meant she was coming back.  But maybe she hadn’t.  Maybe she’d had enough, maybe… he could almost manage to hope she _hadn’t_ come back.  If she hadn’t come back then she was safe. But Liam?  However hard he tried he couldn’t come up with an explanation for Liam’s absence that didn’t involve Gold smirking over his brother’s- _No!_

So he slept and he dreamed and when he woke in those brief moments, he begged whoever was sitting with him to wake him up from the nightmare that was being alone in the world.

“It’s all right, Killian.  I’m here now; just rest.”  Emma’s voice.  Emma’s hand at his brow, a cool cloth running over it.  And then a hand around his throat closed off his airway and Emma’s gentle words turned into Hades’ maniacal laugh and Killian shot out of bed again.

He hit the floor hard, the nap of the carpet startling enough to wake him fully.  Fire wrapping around his arm and the echo of Hades’ laughter ringing in his ear were enough impetus to propel Killian to his feet and send him stumbling across the room.  Not even the sharp tug of the IV as it tore from his right hand was enough to stop him.

“Sir?”  That was Mills, and Killian swore one of these days that he was going to get the kid to stop calling him that.  “Sir, are you all right?”

Killian swung his head around to stare at Henry, the blurred image of him looking as worried as he sounded.  “M’ brother?” he asked for what _must_ have been the hundredth time.

“Let’s get you back in bed, sir.  David will have my head if he sees you bleeding all over Whale’s carpet.”

_David_.  Well, that was progress.

Killian reeled in his thoughts, trying to keep them from slipping away like the tide underneath his feet.  He leaned on the kid anyway, his good arm draped over Henry’s shoulders and his bare feet dragging against the carpet.  “Where are we?” he asked, looking around as he sank back onto the mattress.

Henry looked around as if he’d never seen the place before.  “Umm…” he trailed off, looking helplessly at the door Killian had been trying to escape out of.

“Mills!” he barked.

“Doctor Whale’s Cape house,” he mumbled.

Killian blinked.

And blinked again.  Then he ran a hand over his face, grimacing at the beard that was no longer just stubble.  “We’re… on the _bloody Cape_?”

Henry looked at the door again.  “You were pretty out of it when you came to in the ambulance.”

Killian didn’t remember that.

“We weren’t near the Cape,” was all he could say, raising an eyebrow and daring Mills to leave before he got answers.

Henry shook his head.  “No.  We, umm… well Robin, really.  He… I mean…”

“We faked your death.  And stay in bed!  You’re bleeding all over my guest room.”  Whale stormed into the room, shoving Killian back against the pillows with two fingers on his chest.

“Where’s Liam?”

Whale huffed out an annoyed sigh.  “You are a goddamn broken record, aren’t you?”

“Is my brother dead?” Killian hated how desperate his voice sounded, but if Whale knocked him out again,  if he had to go back to the dreams without knowing-

 “David and Robin are trying to _find_ your bloody stubborn arse of a brother.  When they do, they will bring him here.  Okay?”

Killian blinked, the relief tainted with confusion.  “Then why isn’t he here?  Where’s Emma?”

“Off with Liam doing something stupid that I’m going to have to patch up, no doubt.”  Whale reached into the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a new IV kit.

Killian watched as Whale spread out the kit on the bedside table with a bit of trepidation.  He knew all too well how much the doctor _loved_ having to redo his handiwork.  “Keep a well stocked guest room, do you?” he snarked to cover the nerves.

Whale just looked at him balefully.  “When a detective in the BPD backs you against a wall with his hand around your throat and tells you to keep his partner alive no matter what with the kind of look in his eye that Locksley had?  You pack more than enough essentials.”

_Locksley_?

“Robin’s here?”

“Was I speaking French?  I thought I spoke English.  Hades wants you dead.  We had to get you out of there - at no little risk to _my_ career, faking your death like that - and your bloody brother didn’t get the message.  By the time the meds started to wear off and I could get you out of the morgue, unnoticed, Liam and Emma were already long gone.”  Whale sighed in exasperation, swabbing alcohol over the back of Killian’s hand and jabbing him - unnecessarily hard, in Killian’s opinion - with a bloody dagger masquerading as an IV port.  “Your partner and Nolan are back in Boston trying to find your idiot brother before he gets himself killed.  They left me in charge of babysitting you and the infant over there.” 

Henry scoffed as Whale nodded his head at the increasingly annoyed rookie.

Killian could feel the blood draining from his face.  “He… what?”

Henry glared at the doctor, stepping in between the bed and Whale.  It was the most ballsy Killian had ever seen the kid act.  “We weren’t supposed to tell him that,” Mills hissed angrily.

Whale shrugged.  “That’s what the morphine is for,” he muttered before jabbing a syringe into Killian’s IV line.

He drifted away to the terrifying image of Hades gunning down his brother in front of Emma.

_Liam!_

* * *

Killian was alive.

The rest of it was all a blur other than those three words, playing on repeat in her head.  Killian Jones, bloody menace to her emotions, was alive and hidden away from whomever wanted to hurt him.  Robin had kept his partner safe, the first and foremost of his responsibilities, and she couldn’t even be angry at him for it.

Although, if Liam didn’t survive the sheer amount of blood that he’d left behind on that warehouse floor, Emma was _not_ going to be the one to tell Killian about it.  Robin could take that responsibility as well.

The EMTs were working quickly, relegating David and her to the sidelines to watch as they packed mountains of gauze into Liam’s shoulder and his side and, God, there was just so much blood.  

He had to be okay.  He _had_ to.  Emma didn’t know if he’d heard her shout in his face about Killian, but he needed to know that, too, because if there was one thing Liam would fight for, it was his little brother.

Killian still needed him.

_Killian_.  God, how was he alive?  She’d been in the room when he’d flatlined.  She’d _watched_ the doctor try to revive him.  She’d listened to them call his time of death.  She’d seen the defeat in Liam’s shoulders as he worked up the courage to say goodbye in the morgue.

Killian was _alive_?

Robin wouldn’t lie about that.  She didn’t know him well, but Killian trusted him and Locksley didn’t have anything to gain by misleading them.

And - above all else - Emma _needed_ to believe him.  She needed Killian to be alive, needed to tell him that she wanted him in her life.  That she wanted to wake up next to him in the morning and she wanted to learn how to sail his dumb _boat_ and she wanted him.  Just him.  He was enough for her.

She loved him.

The thought came out of left field - of somewhere far past the Green Monster - but once it was out there, it filled her.  She loved him.  In a way that Emma was sure she hadn’t loved anyone else.

Maybe even like he’d loved Milah.

There was a flurry of activity going around her, movement towards the ambulance and Locksley guiding her to a squad car and she still didn’t really know how they’d gotten there, but she’d never been so glad to see backup in her entire life.

And Liam’s eyes were fluttering, his hands trying to bat at the oxygen mask and Emma needed to tell him-

David beat her to it, grasping Liam’s hand in his and bending over his head so he could whisper in his ear and even from across the parking lot, Emma could see the tension leak out of Liam’s body.  She could hear the relieved sobbing and watched as David gripped Liam’s hand more tightly in his, nodding and reassuring and, God, it was all going to be all right now.

Liam knew his little brother was alive.

There was still a mountain of paperwork to get through as they waited in the ER lobby, an officer named Graham taking her statement and Ingrid coming in from Emma’s department to conduct the IA investigation into _this_ mess and none of it mattered.  Because Emma wasn’t going to have to find Killian wherever Robin had stashed him and tell him that she’d failed to keep Liam alive.

Because Liam was going to be fine, the gunshot wound a deep graze and the stab wound doing soft tissue damage and little else and within 24 hours, he’d been released to Whale’s care.

It had been a long ride to the Cape.

Emma was sure that Mills had never looked so relieved to see someone as he did when David and Robin shouldered Liam through the door.  The elder Jones refused to lie down until he’d seen Killian and Emma was inclined to agree with him.  Henry was already halfway down the hall and Whale was arguing with both of them and no one was really listening to him anyway.

Killian looked awful.

Killian looked _wonderful_.

His chest rose and fell evenly - _breathing_ on his _own_ \- and there was color in his cheeks and his left arm was limp across his chest but his right hand and both feet were twitching sporadically in his sleep and he was _alive_.  He was alive and he was okay and Emma started to breathe easily for the first time in over a week.

And, suddenly, she realized how exhausted she was.

Liam was crying again, not even bothering to blame it on the painkillers Whale had demanded he take for the ride down.  He sank down in the chair on Killian’s right side, pulling his little brother’s hand into his and nearly collapsing as the tremors overtook him.  David caught him before he could fall, waiting for the adrenaline and the neurotoxin to work together to knock Liam out and, only then, did he dare to move Liam from Killian’s side.

Whale promised that Liam wouldn’t wake up again until they wanted him to - once Killian was awake and they could spend some time together.  Healing.

And so they waited.  Strategic medication schedules kept both the Jones brothers from waking and causing a ruckus - Emma grinned to herself as Henry regaled her with stories of Killian’s escape attempts.  They worked out a schedule so that one of them would be sitting with each brother at all times, and they were all suspended pending the investigation into Hades’ and Gold’s deaths anyway, so they waited.

Of course Killian woke first.

He was out of it when he came to, croaking and flinching away from Emma and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but she didn’t know _how_.

_Simple, Emma.  Keep it simple._

It was all going well until Killian realized she was alone in the room with him.  It was clear that he wasn’t really seeing her as he pulled away, trying to flee. 

_Dumb, Emma.  What were you thinking?_

He was frightened; it was terrifying to see it in his eyes and when he shot out of bed, Emma just reacted.  

It was a tangle of limbs and bedclothes as they hit the ground, an elbow in her ribs and her hand caught under Killian’s near-dead weight.  She could feel the tension in his muscles as Killian bit back a cry and tried to get to his feet.  Emma backed off as much as she was able, her hand still tangled in his, her thumb still soothing back and forth.

Killian stopped then, the fight leaching out of him as he came to stare at his hand.  She watched, hardly daring to breathe, as his eyes flitted back and forth, matching the rhythm of her thumb.

“It’s all right, Jones,” she whispered.  “You’re safe.  Back to bed, all right?”

Killian nodded slowly, sloppily, allowing her to shoulder him back onto the bed and under the covers.  He was out before Whale began muttering under his breath and checking the stitches.

Only when Emma was alone in the room again did she realize - _she’d done that._

It was heady to realize that he trusted her, that he _needed_ her.  That she was helping.  All she had to do was calm him down each time and, the more questions he asked, the easier it got to settle him each time until, finally, he slept peacefully.

* * *

“I hope you know your boyfriend’s a right pain in the arse,” Whale’s voice filtered through the haze.

Killian’s mouth was stuffed with cotton and his eyes had been covered in sand.  He jumped when a hand slid over his chest, resting - not hurting - atop his heart.  Something was sliding back and forth and Killian tensed, waiting for the pain he was sure would come next.  He hadn’t spent much time as a captive, but he was sure that being gagged with whatever they’d stuffed in his mouth was par for-

“Jones?  Are you awake this time?”

_Swan._

Killian opened his eyes blearily, adrenaline reminding him of the last nightmare he remembered walking through, where this was a front and Hades would be popping his head in any minute.  He flinched when Emma’s face appeared in his vision, a little blurry around the edges, but clearly concerned.

“Real?” he stumbled over the word, mouth still stuffed with cotton and… oh.  Oh, she had water.  Water was good.

“Slowly, Killian,” she soothed, lifting his head and tipping the glass to his lips.  “Whale’s kept you out for a few days to give himself a break.”

Killian’s brow furrowed.  “When’d you get here?” he asked, unable to bite back the whine when she pulled the glass away too soon.

“Two days ago,” she mumbled, letting him sip from the glass again.

Killian blinked.  That… seemed like a long time.  “Whale that mad at me?”

Emma smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  “Something like that,” she admitted, looking anywhere but at him.

Alarm bells started ringing.  Something was wrong, still.  It took an unimpressive amount of time before he realized what was niggling at his brain.

“Liam?”

Emma grimaced.

The breath caught in his chest, stuttering out in shivering gasps that set every nerve ending on edge.

“Where’s my br-  Swan, where’s _Liam_?”  He was frantic now, trying to push through the fog that the morphine wanted to keep him in.  Not even the searing pain in his chest could keep him from sitting up, reaching spasmodically for anything and anyone to hold onto to ground him in the reality where his brother was alive.  Was okay.

Emma slid in behind him on the bed, wrapping her arms around him to support him.  “Liam’s in the next room, Killian.  Just stay put, all right?  Easy now.”

Killian’s hand flopped uselessly into his lap, stinging more than the unknown injuries his brother was suffering from.  Emma reached around to interlock their fingers and he wanted to do nothing more than squeeze back, let her know he heard her, let her know that he lo-

_Bloody hell_.  He loved her.

It wasn’t the time nor the place for realizations like that, but - God - he’d nearly died and Gold was finally gone and Milah could finally rest and Liam might be hurt and-

“Hades?”

Killian felt Emma’s head shake against his back.  “He’s gone, Killian.  Robin killed him.  He won’t hurt anyone else.”

He sagged, letting Emma take his weight as the adrenaline fled, leaving him shaky and hurting again.  He still needed to see Liam, but Killian didn’t think he could make it out of bed at the moment, never mind across a room and who knew how far beyond.

“Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s going to be okay, Killian.  You can rest.”

Liam was here.  He was safe.  They could figure the rest of it out later.

“You want to lie down?” Emma asked, her thumb transfixing him as he watched it swipe back and forth over his hand.  

If he concentrated hard enough, Killian could almost believe that he felt the movement rather than just saw it.  He shook his head ‘no’, shifting carefully in deference to his shoulder, but unwilling to let her escape now that she was here.  With him.

Safe.

They were both safe - Emma and Liam - and that, more than the drip of medicine slowly plunking away to his right, lulled him back to sleep.  Emma’s breath whispered in his ear and her heart beat steadily beneath his back and he was with her and they were all safe.

Killian was nearly asleep again when David stormed into the room.  “Liam’s waking up,” was all he said before throwing the covers back from his bare legs and unhooking the IV from the sconce.

Emma didn’t even try to protest, one hand on Killian’s back and the other reaching for the sling he hadn’t needed yet.  It took a moment, but they had him standing more or less unaided by the time Robin tumbled into the room.

“How are ya, mate?”

“Liam.” It was an order as much as it was an answer.

Robin laughed under his breath but nodded, taking David’s place under Killian’s shoulder - at his partner’s side, where he belonged.

It was slow going, the few steps across the hallway seeming like a marathon for the way he was gasping and sweating by the time they got there.  Whale waited for them in what was clearly his master bedroom with a scowl on his face.

Liam was pale in the bed, an IV of his own that Emma muttered may not have been necessary if they thought he would _rest_ instead of sitting vigil for Killian.  Killian couldn’t blame him - he’d have done the same.  Liam’s eyes were fluttering and his head was tossing and there was a full syringe lying on the bedside table.

Killian knew they wouldn’t need it.  Not once Liam woke and saw him here.

Emma and Robin gently helped him sit at Liam’s hip, then Robin surprised them both - backing off so that Emma could stand at Killian’s shoulder, just in case.  A soft smile was the only answer to her unspoken question.

David sat by Liam’s other hip as Killian struggled to stay upright on his own.  He felt as though he’d climbed Mount Washington with Roland on his back in the middle of August.  But Liam needed to see him as badly as he needed to see his brother awake and that was really all that mattered.  He wasn’t really sure of how much time had passed since the cabin, too many different doctors and too much medicine, and a vague memory of darkness and the morgue coupled with far too much adrenaline, but it had been too long.

Liam’s eyes blinked open slowly and Killian’s breath caught in his throat.  He looked to David for help, not able to say anything.

“Hey there, partner,” David called softly, taking pity on Killian.  “You want to wake up and yell at your brother?”

_So much for pity_.

Liam’s eyes shot open, his own breath coming in soft gasps as he looked wildly around the room, settling on Killian after a scant moment.  “Killian?” he whispered, the disbelief and the unadulterated grief like a shot to the heart.

“Aye, brother.  I’m here.”

It was too much and not enough when Liam struggled to sit up and, with David’s help, managed to reach out and grasp Killian’s shoulder.  Killian ducked his head and smiled when their foreheads fell together with a soft clunk that made him chuckle.

Everything else fell away as the world settled back onto the right axis.  The brothers Jones against the world once more.

“Are you all right?” Liam asked, pulling away far enough to look Killian in the eye.

* * *

   
**_Look at the amazing art that[cocohook38](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com) over at Tumblr made for this [scene](http://cocohook38.tumblr.com/post/182253785946/clear-and-present-danger-ch16-by-icecubelotr44)!_**

* * *

_That_ was a complicated question.  Gold was gone; Milah could rest finally.   _He_ could move on.  He’d thought… he’d figured that _if_ he survived taking Gold down, it would feel different somehow.  And that was when he realized - he’d already moved on from Milah’s death.

Emma had helped him do that.

But there was still so much unknown to deal with.  There was his hand and Emma and his job and Liam and Emma and-

Emma squeezed his shoulder and things slowed down in his head.  One thing at a time.

“Aye, brother.  I’m going to be all right.”  In the long and the short of it, it was true.  He had his brother and Emma at his side and he’d figure out the rest as it came along.

Liam sagged, his fingers clenching around Killian’s biceps and it was the first time he realized he was sitting at his brother’s bedside in naught but a pair of shorts that didn’t look familiar.  His cheeks colored a bit, but Emma’s soft laughter and Liam’s smirk were almost worth the embarrassment.

Almost.

When Liam started laughing along with Emma, Killian snatched the blanket from over his brother’s hips to toss across his own lap.  Of course, _Liam_ was wearing sweatpants.  Killian’s cheeks colored further.

“Come on, Jones,” Emma urged.  “Let’s get you into bed.”

David whistled and Robin laughed and Liam’s eyes flashed.

They were all going to be fine.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he chided good naturedly, “at least buy a man dinner first.”

It was Emma’s turn to blush, her cheeks glowing pink as she wrinkled her nose and glared.  “You wish, Jones,” was her only retort.

He did.  He really, _really_ did.

Killian tried not to make a sound as Emma and Robin helped him to his feet.  He was thankful that the sling supported his hand as well as his shoulder, but he couldn’t quite mask the worry from Liam’s watchful stare.

“Killian, what’s wrong?” his brother asked, eyes zeroing in on the white gauze wrapped around his shoulder and the sling that cinched tightly to his torso.

“Later, Liam,” David ordered.  “You both need rest.”

Liam sat up straighter.  “What aren’t you telling- I swear to God, Whale, if you so much as _think_ about picking up that needle, I’ll yank this IV.”

Whale backed away from the table with his hands raised and a look of concerned annoyance on his face.

“It’ll keep, Brother, I promise,” Killian vowed.  “I’m all right.”

Liam stared at him for what seemed an eternity.  Killian let him, remembering how every little twitch and tremor of Liam’s had once made him do the same.

“You’d… you wouldn’t lie to me?”

It hurt, after everything that had been going on with Hades under Killian’s nose, that Liam would worry about that.  “No, brother.  I wouldn’t lie to you about this.  I’ve got to heal, and so do you. But we’re going to be fine”

Liam nodded, sinking back into the pillows with a barely masked groan.

“Come on, Killian,” Emma whispered from his side, her hand on the middle of his back to brace him.  “You need to lie down.”

He was starting to agree with her, the edges of the room starting to go fuzzy, and he could only imagine that it would be less than helpful if he passed out within Liam’s line of sight.  

With a nod, Killian let Emma and Robin guide him back to the uncomfortable bed.  He sank down onto the mattress with a wince and a scowl, but didn’t lie back when she pushed insistently on his chest.

“I’ve been on my back for far too long, luv.  Just let me sit up a moment.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Robin snarked with a wry grin, backing out of the room with his hands over his eyes.

Emma rolled hers.  “Fine, Jones, but there won’t be any pillaging and plundering going on for awhile.”

“Agreed,” he muttered tiredly, shifting with her help to lean back against the headboard.  “Stay?”

Emma smiled gently, sitting by his hip with one hand on his thigh.  Sparks shot through his bare skin, traveling up his leg and settling in the middle of his chest.  They sat in silence for a long time, watching the shadows lengthen along the floorboards.

“I thought you were dead,” Emma interrupted the silence some time later.  “I didn’t… I should have…”

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

Emma shook her head.  “You didn’t know what Locksley was going to do.  I just… I watched your heart stop beating and I couldn’t…”

Killian reached out to cover her hand with his own.  He ducked his head until she looked at him, nodding his head and smiling encouragingly.  “I’m all-

“I love you.”

Killian blinked, the smile stretching across his face even before the words registered.

“-have said it before.  And you don’t have to say anything, but I just wanted you to know.  You deserve to know that… that I love you.”

_Bloody hell_ , she was still talking.  Why was she still talking when she should be kissing him.  She loved him; they loved each other.  There should be more-

Oh.

“I love you, Swan,” Killian finally managed, squeezing her fingers and tugging lightly.

She stopped talking.

“I love you,” he repeated, reaching up to finger the ends of her hair.  “I don’t know when it happened, or how, but we live in a world with no certainties and no roadmaps to explain all of this.  All I know is that I want to figure it out with you.”

Killian wasn’t entirely sure if he could name the emotion that crossed Emma’s face as he finished speaking.  There was a little bit of awe mixed with disbelief mixed with… with love.  He watched as Emma processed the words and took them to heart.  She smiled back at him before leaning in.

Carefully, oh so carefully, Emma laid her hand over his chest, fingers curled just slightly into the gauze wrapped around him.  She loomed over him for an instant before brushing her lips over his.  The kiss was feather light, not even enough pressure to poke at the split in his lip Hades had dealt him.  It was everything and not enough all at the same time.

It was a promise of more to come.

* * *

* * *

**Six Months Later…**

Killian looked around the bullpen with a little bit of trepidation and bittersweet closure.  He’d worked his way up the ranks here, Gold’s interference notwithstanding, and he’d thought - once upon a time - that he’d retire here with a gold watch and a handshake of thanks and a pint (or ten) down at Finnegan’s Tavern.  Things had looked so different before Emma Swan had swooped into his life.

Now, Robin and Mills were occupying one set of desks, their heads bent together over a new case.  David looked out over the lot of them, a shiny Captain’s bar on his uniform shirt.

And Killian had a box full of knick knacks and the Captain Hook pen he’d refused to leave behind and Emma’s left hand entwined with his.

His own left hand squeezed the Nerf ball that his physical therapist swore was an actual tool and not a torture device.  The feeling was coming back - albeit too slowly for Killian’s liking - and he was almost able to get through the day without it cramping up or giving out on him.  One last laugh for Robert Gold before he was on the road to being forgotten entirely.

It didn’t matter.  What did was that it was almost time to take the _Jolly Roger_ out for the long weekend and Killian had better things to do with his time than worry about what that old crocodile had almost cost him.  His arm would get better or it wouldn’t.  Either way, he’d closed the book on this part of his life and was looking forward to opening the next adventure.

With Emma and Liam by his side.

“You ready to go?” Emma asked, squeezing her fingers around his and reaching for the box at his feet.

“Aye, luv,” he agreed.  “We’ve got to meet Liam in the North End in an hour and I don’t think I have the patience for traffic if we wait much longer.”

Emma laughed quietly, hefting the box onto one hip and tugging on his hand until he kissed her briefly on the cheek.

“Jones!” David bellowed from his office, the glint of a smile on his face as he waved him over.

“You’re not going to change my mind about this,” Killian warned him as he leaned against the door jamb with his thumbs in his belt loops.

David rolled his eyes.  “I know.  Your brother would have my head if I even tried.  I just… if you _do_ change your mind, all you need to do is requalify once you’re cleared and…”

“And the job is mine.  I know, _Captain_.”  He smirked at the promotion and the desk job it promised David.  Safety.  With Mary Margaret nearly five months pregnant, it was exactly what the Nolan clan needed now.  “I appreciate it.  But this… it’s just something I’ve gotta do.”

David nodded.  “I know.  It’ll be good for both of you.  I just… this department needs more men like you.”

“Aww, Dave,” Killian drawled sardonically, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Get out of here before I change my mind about keeping your job for you,” David tossed back, but the smile never left his face.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to get to the address Liam had texted him in the North End.  Killian parked the Chevelle on the street and opened the door, the smell of salt air hitting him as soon as he set feet on the pavement.  They were close enough to the water that even the smells of the city couldn’t permeate here.

“What are we doing here?” Emma asked, shutting her own door and shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.

Killian shook his head, looking around for his brother.  “Don’t know, luv.  Liam just said he’d meet us here.”

“Are you sure you got the address right?”

“Emma,” he chastised.  “We aren’t going to become one of those couples who can’t agree on directions, are we?”

“She’s got you whipped already, little brother,” Liam’s voice called from across the street.

Killian smiled.  The days after his return from the dead had brought out a new level of cosseting and mother henning from Liam.  He hadn’t heard _that_ particular moniker since beforehand.

Still, it wouldn’t do for Liam to think he could get away with it.

“Perhaps you mean _younger_ brother, Liam,” he reminded without any real heat.  “And the lady has a point.  What did you bring us all the way across town for?”

Liam smiled enigmatically before gesturing for them to cross the street and follow him.  “If we’re going to work together from here on out, we need a little bit more space than I had in that closet office on Boylston.  And since we needed more room, I thought we should make it official, your transfer to the private sector as it were.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, looking over to Emma in question.  She had no better idea than he did what was going through Liam’s head.

And then he saw it; the sign swinging in the wind over a nondescript door at the corner of the office buildings.  Everything fell into place as he realized what Liam had done for them.  It was perfect.  Nothing too flashy or unnecessary, just straight and to the point.

Jones Brothers Investigations had a pretty good ring to it, after all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Can't thank everyone who helped make this fic a reality enough. @gusenitsaa, @cocohook38, @all the moderators helping make this challenge a success! Updates will be posted every Sunday until this is complete!


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